Strange what a seemingly small, insignificant move can do, a product more of necessity than desire. From in the house to out on the balcony facing what I would like to believe is a garden (never mind if the dogs have stormed and shadowed most of the green elements required for it to be called such) we now enjoy our meals. All three, plus everything else in between. It is a new take on an old place and somehow it feels different, in a comfortably familiar way.
A very early Christmas present was a huge hamper of many different cuts of steak from one of my dearest friends. And so Richard has been grilling, friends have been coming, music has been playing, and yes, I have been wrapping. More like tossing them into pretty bags, actually, like a madwoman with too many ribbons and too little time. When I am tempted to do a little something extra-special with the packaging, which is always the case, I look at the many naked ones staring at me, patiently waiting their turn, and I am jolted back to my more practical senses. Oh, the many pretty things I can do with thoughts and fingers! But if I were to indulge in this whimsy that I so adore, during this, my most favorite of seasons, Valentine’s Day would have come and gone and I would still be at it.
So I find myself sighing often, as if to leave go of the creative yearning trapped inside, and with as pretty a bow, or knot, as I can muster in as little time as I challenge myself to take, I send off the present with lots of good wishes and hope, with a hope that trickles from a child’s heart, that the present finds its way to a happy recipient.
My sweet husband has been very tolerant of the festive mess I make and the zombie-like hours I keep, feeding me with steak and stories as I go about my busyness. My daughter, ever helpful and masterful at curling ribbons using the sides of a ruler, is relishing her own creative independence. She was tasked to please wrap the gifts of the little ones, any way she wants. It is an assignment she takes very seriously.
When she takes five, she challenges herself and whoever is nearest her to a game of Manpoly as she calls it (Monopoly), buying properties for $2 while alternately wondering if Mama Mary wore sleeveless dresses and Papa Joseph wore shorts in Bethlehem, during the old days. I could not answer that definitively but I am quite positive they did not. Why do the men in Bethlehem wear dusters, Mama, she asks. Why do you wear leggings with your skirt, I ask right back. Because. And so with that one word little questions are settled, so simply and quickly, and we move on.
Meanwhile, harassed and pressed for time as I am, I am just… happy, in a shameless kind of way. Despite the dizzying list of things to do and the whirl of get-togethers, the season never fails to bring me joy. There is no house mess quite as pleasant as the one Christmas ushers in, and amid scraps of ribbon here and there, rolls of wrapping paper and cellophane, days are indeed merry and bright. And my heart smiles even three times more each time I see a twinkling parol and hear a Christmas song.
But at the core of Christmas really are the friendships/relationships we nurture. We communicate Christmas by finding time for the people in our lives, filling the spaces not just with the tangible stuff but with more and more of those that truly matter. Compassion, charity, sincerity, hope – among many others, these are the very things that weave a certain kind of magic in the air. They make for those times when nothing really special is happening but the moment feels special nonetheless.