Deconstructing Christmas
January 8, 2007

With far less joy and enthusiasm than I flittered with in December, I have deconstructed Christmas.  I resolved to do one room a day, with a comprehensive cleanup following the deflowering.  I maintained this pace with determination, and today my beautiful crystal tree made its way to the attic for hibernation.  When I retrieve it next November, I expect that I will be just slightly hysterical about the upcoming wedding of Pat and Rachel.  Maybe I will put it up REALLY early and customize it for Halloween.  In fact, this autumn I spent many hours on the Internet in search of a black metallic tree.  I had visions of a Halloween theme, followed by a Paris theme, and finally a New Year’s theme. I am quite certain I can continue the festive-redesigns throughout the year.   I WILL get one next year- I am on a wait list.  At that point, I fear Steve will put me into a mental health care facility for excessive/compulsive holiday decorators.  I cannot help it.  Illinois looks so much prettier in the soft glow of Italian lights-, which are, of course, made in China.  My home may be cleaner today, but it is dreary, particularly because my 3 Illinois men are parked in front of games featuring teams that I know nothing about.  I am ashamed to say that I actually watched Seattle/Dallas intently, and chased it with a Cops DVD as I drifted to sleep.  That is why I feel somewhat trapped in my dark sad house.

I bopped off to see Dreamgirls with friends today, abandoning the 3 Dahl couch potatoes. I am a Detroit girl myself, by way of suburbia.  I loved every minute of it, from the songs to the wigs to the amazing acting.  The riot segment was not a highlight, but sadly it is part of my formative years.  My Aunt Dot lived in the 6 Mile area, on the same street, heck, in the same house my mom grew up on. The looting was two blocks away.   I can remember hearing the sirens and gunfire over the phone when Mom called to check on her. I saw people on TV plundering and burning the same stores we would buy candy at when we visited.   When things quieted down, that neighborhood was dead.  Metal burglar bars went up and customers never returned to the fancy shops on Livernois. Most people scampered from the beautiful Tudor homes to the suburbs.  Prices plunged. Aunt Dot and Uncle Al stayed on, but the stress of hearing her neighborhood under siege, and seeing the looted, charred ruins of her local businesses changed Aunt Dot.  She became reclusive and nervous- she kind of gave up on the dream of a good life.   I still went to the neighborhood to see my dentist, (worst dentist ever) Dr. Champaign.  I did that for 17 years, and I never an x-ray or Novocain.  He drilled every square inch he could find and told me to offer it up for the poor souls in Purgatory. I was in Hell.   I have a dentist appointment this Wednesday, and those memories make me crave sedation just to drive there.  Sorry for that digression… most of my Detroit memories are not dark.

When I was in 8th grade, I saw Martha and the Vandellas at the Michigan State Fair, which was held every summer at the very urban Eight Mile Road and Woodward…yep- Eminem’s 8 Mile. The agriculture barn was not engaging, and it smelled of poop, and so I sat in the sun and watched 3 young women shimmy and shake while entreating me to STOP in the name of love.  They glittered and sparkled- totally overdressed for a State Fair, I thought, but exuding glamour and soul.  It was Beatles time in America, but this was a slice of authentic Detroit.  The crowd was all mixed up-black/white, young/old- and we all danced along.  Guess we didn’t know that in less than 4 years, we would be divided by the death of Martin Luther King, by hate and fear.  I guess if Aunt Dot had known, she would have moved on.

My second year of college, Diana Ross and her re-vamped Supremes did their farewell concert on TV.  I sat in our dorm basement with a crowd, and watched the elegant arms of Diane, Mary and Cindy wave goodbye while lyrically assuring us that “Someday, we’ll be together.”  I knew better. Motown had cosmically ditched Detroit for additional offices in LA and New York.  Florence Ballard had been kicked to the curb.   When the riots exploded, they abandoned the Hitsville USA house where Holland-Dozier-Holland had made magic.  It was a microcosm of the desertion of the Motor City, accelerated by angry mobs and hard times. 

Detroit has suffered since the sixties, never really overcoming the flight of business and humanity.  Corrupt politics and low expectations keep the downtown generally downtrodden.  Now the auto industry is in a freefall, and the needs of the city will have to just wait until the future is a little more certain. But there is a history of joy and talent there, and so I am not counting them out.  My family is still part of metropolitan Detroit, I had a wonderful time growing up there- and hey- someday, we might be together.  In the meantime- I had a swell time dropping in with the Dreamgirls.