The lights. The music. The decorations. I soak it all in, really trying to feel it this time - not just go through the motions. I make a point of sitting by the tree and play as much Christmas music as I can stand. It’s Bing Crosby and The Three Tenors and whatever’s on the radio. It seems more festive this year and earlier. I’m not sure why but it must be a good thing.
It's easier for me these days. Now that the kids are grown and I don't have to shop for 3 young daughters, 5 growing nephews, 2 sweet nieces, 2 aging parents, 3 step-parents,2 picky sisters, one impossible brother, eleven far flung in-laws.....and a Partridge in a pear tree. Life has pared down the shopping list and this is good. It's a bit simpler now that I don't spend half my time cleaning up after everyone and I really can savor it all.
We get into the spirit and start with the twinkle lights outside. We get the tree sooner than we ever have. Eric, and the two daughters who live nearby, plan to decorate it together after dinner, but there is always the awkwardness leftover from the other lives. We become so aware of what we do NOT have. Eric has no ornaments from his prior life and it seems symbolic to him. The youngest daughters are far away. An old friend is seriously ill. For a little while what we’re missing seems bigger than what we do have. We are so aware of what is lost, what is changed.
We forge ahead and trim the tree which looks beautiful. It feels right. As days pass I continue to layer the house with more decorations. The neon green artificial tree in the kitchen, the napkins and tablecloths. I’ve finally thrown away the Santa toilet seat cover and rug so we’re spared that, but we have mistletoe and reindeer and cranberries in jars. The house looks warm and wonderful and we love it. Until we don’t.
Every year there comes a time that, and I’m never quite sure when it will be, claustrophobia sets in. This year it was on December 27th at precisely 9:57 a.m. I look around and feel crowded and annoyed. The red and green hurts my eyes. All of a sudden, it's ugly. Christmas saturation. I start to un-decorate. Out goes the red tablecloth and plaid napkins. Away goes the little tree. The ornamental cranberries are dumped down the drain. The Santa bobble heads depart from the bathroom. Go away Dasher and Donner - we’re sick of you. I feel a little bad until I remember the Christmas tree left for dead in front of someone’s house that we saw on the afternoon of the 25th. Now that’s efficiency.
Our tree can stay until after New Year’s and we’ll pretend to enjoy it, but really we’re dreaming of the gray light of January and paper white Narcissus in clear vases. We’ll cleanse our visual pallette by using white plates, cool and clean. We’ll take away color and feel the rawness of this dormant time until it’s pink tulips and yellow daffodils and Northern California spring once again.
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