It is 7am Christmas morning, and even the dog is still
asleep. I think this space right here is
the most wonderful of the year, this time alone, anticipating, thinking about
the origins of this day, knowing that my whole family is upstairs sleeping and awaiting
the day together. All is quiet, I have a
cup of coffee, I’m in my pjs, and I’m listening to sacred music. It doesn’t get much better than this. Maybe I feel this way because this space is
so fleeting, but I’ll take whatever time I get.
I’m thinking about last night, Christmas eve, at our dear
friends’ house. This is now a
multigenerational house with a lovely suite for the seniors. The house is big enough to house all sorts of
generations for Christmas—adult kids, a sister and her family of four, a
married kid and her husband, and then all of us, even my mom. Somehow, this large space feels so cozy with
all of us sitting around a table together laughing, talking, watching our
families intertwine and love each other.
What a sight and how lucky we are.
I think I’ve gotten
old enough or perhaps just more aware of everything, because I see the
connections between all these people so clearly, from age 11 to 89. My mom is talking to the new husband of our
friends’ oldest child, I’m talking to my friend’s sister, Will is chatting with
my friend’s mother about his time in Madrid, etc, etc, etc. We are thoroughly engaged with these people
we have known all our lives and with whom we have shared the wonder of our kids
growing up; we have shared multiple hardships and innumerable joys as well. Last night was joy. Even though I was sitting next to the chef
who also happens to be the pilot I mentioned previously, and I really do envy
and hate him so; but I love him dearly.
Have I said this before? If I
were ever in a jam and my dear husband didn’t answer his cell phone, I would
call him and he would come. That is a
remarkable feeling. I know he would
come. I hope he and his whole family
know that I would come running for them—always.
So here I am, about to take the presents in the closet down
to the tree. I had planned a very
minimalist Christmas, but it always seems to bloom into more than I
wanted. This year we are introducing a
new concept that a friend told me about.
We are going to give a little money to each kid, and have them research
a local charity and give the money away.
Our lovely city is one of the poorest around; I want us to focus here,
even though there are other pressing needs in the world. I guess I’ll let them choose to give to
something outside of Cleveland if they can back it up. Hopefully some day, Christmas will be
stockings only and charity.
Do you all do stockings too?
All my life, stockings have been the focus of the morning. Much thought, care, and re-gifting goes into
stocking planning. The gifts in the stocking
are small, inexpensive things that are usually funny and are best if they
highlight some aspect of the person who is to receive them. Therefore, they require some thought. My sister is a master of this; I think she
spends some time throughout the year grabbing things she sees. She is better at this than I, but I have
worked a bit on it this year and we shall see.
Also this year, my lovely KT is making pancakes, or so she has
said. You can never be completely sure,
but I’m looking forward to them anyway!
So, Merry Christmas to all, and happy holidays and a joyous
new year! I am feeling good. Had a week off from nasty chemo and I feel as
if my hematocrit (level of red cells) is ok.
Hopefully, all my numbers will be ok for treatment Friday. My sis will
be here and I’m really looking forward to that.
Uh oh, I hear water running upstairs.
This year, the sacred space lasted about 45 minutes, but it was worth
every second.
I sent this poem several years ago, I believe, but it is so
right for my particular history with Christmas!
I now know that I am a wrapping control freak, and this poem explains it all……
Cheers!
In the Cold Room on Christmas Eve
Boxes are wrapped
with precision,
paper perfect,
patterns lined up.
All of us
together in the cold room,
freezing behind
the bar,
folding,
wrapping, drinking
Grandma’s eggnog
that makes us
giggle with just
a sip of the heady,
nutmeg and
whiskey milk.
We make sure the
ribbon is curled just so.
I am the
youngest, but I have learned.
We use only what
paper we need.
Each piece of
tape is divided several times.
This is the way I
think everyone prepares,
wrapping each
gift slowly,
carefully, into
the wee hours,
eggnog and
chatter warming us.
Somehow for all
of us,
every year the
same, each box
wrapped by loving
hands,
admired and held
up to the light,
kissed with
ribbon,
laid down to wait
under twinkling lights,
becomes something
more.
Some piece of us,
some sliver of dream
Lies swaddled
deep in the folds of a sweatshirt
for him, or
nestles warm and fragrant
in the pages of a
cookbook for her,
expectant,
full of
possibility.
Just as we are
again,
tonight.
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