As Christmas neared this year, we pulled out the one and only box of decorations we had left, and wondered whether to even bother opening it.
Earlier this year, in preparation to eventually downsize from our home, we sold every single last bit of decorations that we had used to cover the 6700 square feet of venue space these last seven years. This included Easter, Fourth of July, Thanksgiving and of course, Christmas. There were 36 Christmas trees in all (ranging from 12” to 14’), as well as many different table toppers and mantle pieces. When completely decorated, the space has dazzled guests as they attended the myriad of Christmas parties our clients hosted in our home.
This year, however, there were no parties, no caterers in the garage, no leftover cake or toffee. There was only the wreath that always remains above the fireplace in the hearth room, a single 12 inch tree (yes, inches, not feet), four Spode coffee cups and saucers, and one Christmas tablecloth, adorned with six Christmas ornaments--all of which we pulled from our one box.
We did have a few personal dinner parties. Some guests arrived with gifts and would begin to search for the tree to put them under. I directed them to the foot tall one like “obviously this is it,” and received wide eyes and laughter.
But as I held my tiny Spode Christmas cup--dainty, the size complete child’s play compared to the mug size required to hold the coffee I throw back, but beautifully delicate--I realized the details, though small, were more important than ever before.
Without the explosion of decorations, the barrage of CHRISTMAS spelled out before you, there was a quietness to the season. A warmth that had to be discovered, rather than a loud repetitive announcement of the time of the year.
On the 23rd I started to get a head cold. And although being sick is never fun, it actually made the holiday slow down even more, matching the pace we were moving at decor-wise. I started to appreciate each moment more, having to move through Christmas Eve, and Christmas Day at glacial speed. I began to feel grateful. Not the way one does as a last resort, but in a bright, intentional way.
Earl grey tea with honey, hot on my throat, while opening Sherlock Holmes and sitting by the fire. The fact that we HAVE a fireplace. A tiny tree, a comfortable couch, slowly wrapping presents. Spending time with family; watching the connection that blood brings. Even when we don’t say half the words I share with friends, there’s a family bond that goes beyond knowledge, one that goes past needing to know the truths and the stories, and arches over the connecting points that are required with other people, and goes straight to the heart of connecting simply because we’re family; something that is magic in and of itself.
My aunt lives on a ridge above the lake. Every year we celebrate with our extended family on the 25th, in town, but have our small gathering at her lake house on the 26th. We took a walk after we’d been there a few hours. It was slightly warmer this year, but the temperature was beginning to drop as the sun started to sink. Houses twist and turn on this hillside of the lake. As the sun dipped lower, all of the lights, both across the lake and in her neighborhood, began to glow against the beginning of darkness. Again, I received ever so clearly the vision of beauty in the small things.
As each light twinkled and families moved within their homes--some cooking dinner, some unwrapping presents, some napping, some reading a book by the fire--I embraced that moment in time.
During the holidays, everything stops. Time stands still, even if just for a few hours. Businesses close, people return home to their families, old and new relationships are born. For some it’s a hard time, for some it’s what they’ve been longing for, but no matter which, it’s a time when people give--even to those they don’t know, “Merry Christmas” is exchanged wherever you go, and it is in this time each year, I think we behave the way we were always meant to. Kindness, love, and selflessness take over. No work can be accomplished, no errands easily run. A rest, even ever so short, settles upon the country.
The chilled air, although painful on my throat, was fresh and alive as we walked in the ever-dimming sun. Firewood could be smelled, as well as a laundry vent here and there, both signalling signs of life.
Beautiful, quiet, twinkling and hopeful, life.
