Average

I’m relatively normal. I’d say I generally fit into the middle of the bell curve, and rarely do anything that would attract notice. I went home for Thanksgiving, helped bake pies, ate turkey, got up at 3:30 AM on Black Friday to go shopping (for goodness sake, what a miserable experience), ate leftovers and watched football on Saturday. I drove back to my house yesterday, fighting traffic of like-minded folks heading home after the holiday.

With great relief to be at the end of my journey, I drove through my neighborhood, which is your average huge suburban development. I noticed that huge displays of Christmas cheer were already proudly presented on various lawns and houses. Nativity sets – not sentimental ceramic like mine, but full-sized mangers for people to play out the birth of our Lord. Then there was the Disney theme the red brick house had going – all the characters had arrived in their cardboard finery, and the spotlights stood ready to illuminate the happiest scene on Earth when evening descends.

The people who had the blow-up ghost at Halloween and turkey at Thankgiving are still preparing. I expected inflatable Santa et al. to be waving in the wind already. But there’s apparently been some sort of decorating delay for them. Little icicle lights twinkle for many of my neighbors. I see my neighbors across the street have lighted reindeer outlines prancing across the roof, and yet another nativity scene in the corner of the yard. I got crushed in the Halloween decorating contest – my 2 plush ghosts in the window and my re-usable foam pumpkin that only sat outside on Oct. 31 weren’t up to the terrifying free-for-alls that occurred down the street. Hay bales? Scarecrows? 100s of pumpkins? Really? Who has the time for all that stuff?!

Following tradition, I drug my artificial Christmas tree out of the attic this morning before work. I put it up when I arrived home this afternoon. Placing it carefully on a table to overcome its short stature, tucking the tree skirt carefully around the red and green stand. I only used one strand of brightly colored little lights. If you push them deep into the branches, there are plenty to go around a little tree. I opened the small box of ornaments Mom and I had put together last year – some I made in school, others Grandma had given my mother, a clear snowman I got in Chicago while visiting a friend from college, otters, kittens, and rocking horse, puppies, polar bears and tiny penguins all frolic around the long-needled branches.

My nativity set, painted by Grandma, gently graces a coffee table by the front window. One of the camels is missing an ear, the paint was faded on the cow’s nose, and one of the wise men has been glued back together at his base. But they’re perfect – used to being stored in hot attics or small closets, but always unpacked and carefully placed somewhere special at Christmastime. I look around and see memories – some old, faded and a little chipped, others more vivid. So as I think about how I always placed all the animals in the manger with baby Jesus and left the people outside in the cold (they had heavy clothes on!), and see how bright the porch becomes when covered in tiny white lights, I feel comforted. These painted pieces of ceramic – Mr. and Mrs. Claus on my mantle, the tiny pink angels on my TV, Mary and Joseph on the bakers rack in the kitchen – are familiar, safe and representative of people I love.

As I drive by all the homes who are once again putting my half-hearted attempts at decorating to shame, I imagine they have memories attached to their decorations too. Maybe someday a man will tell his children that they were late putting up the inflatable Rudolph because the air compressor broke and they had to blow the sucker up themselves. Perhaps a young woman will bring her boyfriend home and play Mary to his Joseph in the life-size manger her parents still construct in front of their house. I read someone’s blog and she says that she has forgotten much of her childhood, but Christmas memories have remained in her consciousness. So when, during this season, I’m more reminded of the past and thoughtful of what I’ll remember of this year, my guess is I’m pretty normal in that sort of thinking.

I’ve started to notice that the population you study heavily influences the definition of average. While I give to charities, smaller amounts to many groups this year, I don’t see needy people, so in my mind, there aren’t very many of them. I do, however, encounter many sick people and their families. I give a little bit more to those groups – for research, support, programs for children – because part of that pain has worked its way into my reality. I cry when I watch reports on the Towers falling or Katrina victims, but when people tell me I can’t really understand, I agree. I know families who are supportive – if you’re in trouble – financially, emotionally or otherwise – going home to Mom and Dad is my first thought. I don’t always follow-through – I can be relatively self-sufficient. But not having that support system, or having your relatives drain your personal reserves of strength, is foreign to me. I didn’t ask for money for school, but I always knew it was there. I haven’t asked my parents to visit, but they continue to come every other month to fix and install, clean and update.

I watched Extreme Makeover: Home Edition, Desperate Housewives and Grey’s Anatomy while I was catching up on bills and email last night. I go to sleep between 10:30 and 11:30, and wake before 6. I believe in God and attend Protestant churches, though I haven’t joined one since I’ve moved. All average characteristics– hitting right around the median behavior of the standard Midwestern people.

So while I didn’t light the bushes that line the side of my house, or drape decorations around my little picket fence, I put up some lights. I can see them through my front window on the porch, and I’m drawn to look at the tree. My house isn’t the nicest in the neighborhood, and it probably wouldn’t get an honorable mention in terms of holiday decorating. But I made an effort – invested time and effort to celebrate something truly miraculous. And in that, I’m wonderfully average. I may not always succeed, or merit any tremendous notice, but the effort to do well, to find happiness, and to make some sort of difference is definitely there.