Yes, we counted down the seconds last night. A room full of people with noisemakers and champagne and funny hats. Out with the old and in with the new.
But for me, 2017 started with this winter morning, with the run I just took along familiar routes, waves to neighbors, music and talking in my ear.
And it started even earlier, with a cup of tea and my journal, reading last year’s entries, pondering resolutions, writing my way into the future.
It’s only a matter of hours now for 2016, this crazy leap year with so many changes (new job and wedding; show-stopping election) that we needed an extra day to pack ’em in.
One thing about years now: They pass so quickly that it almost seems pointless to make a big fuss over their arrivals and departures.
But still, a year change is a moment, and so I will mark it now in this quiet living room with the tree still in full holiday regalia, books and journal by my side, three loads of laundry, a tidied freezer and vacuumed floor under my belt. The price I pay for writing time, a price I may have to stop paying if I’m ever to write more than these blog posts. And if there’s a hint of a resolution in there, so much the better!
Fast away the old year passes … whether marked by sundial or computer clock … it passes …
Yesterday I met my brother for lunch at the local mega-mall. It was wonderful to see him — but I made quick work of the venue, got in and out as quickly as I could. More shopping? I don’t think so.
Instead, I made my way quickly back here, where I could bounce on the trampoline and do a little yard work in the suddenly 60-degree temps. As the day darkened, I came inside to bask in the tree and the bowl of red glass apples that catch the light and transform it.
These holiday sights soothe the soul; the holiday occupations do, too. I spent a couple of hours last night turning the last of the cookie dough into crispy, sugared wreaths, bells and angels.
It’s all part of the holiday house. I want to keep it here as long as possible.
Here I’m enjoying the Great Pause, which in part has meant a blog pause, though not for long because, well, writing here is what I do.
I love the disorientation this time of year brings. Is it Monday? Tuesday? Should I start watching a movie at 10 p.m.? Why not?
The trick is to balance the vegging with small, discrete tasks. Tidy up the area under the bathroom sink. Look through one of the boxes from Lexington, Mom’s things, an activity that must be reserved for moments of lightness and strength. (Come to think of it, that may have to wait.)
Most of all, time for reading, writing, talking and walking. Four of my favorite things.
“Joy to the World”: 1719.
“Hark, the Herald Angels Sing”: 1739.
“O Come, All Ye Faithful”: 1751.
“The First Noel”: 1823.
“We Three Kings”: 1857.
The music we sing at Christmas has been around for a while. I think of this especially with Advent carols like “O Come, O Come Emmanuel, which traces its origins back to the 12th century or earlier.
These are ancient chants, tunes that link us to generations of worshippers and carolers.
It’s one part of the season that never changes, the words and melodies we learned before we could read, ribbons of song that tie us to the past, that carry with them the promise of hope fulfilled.
Here at the office, a holiday frenzy: Let’s see how much work we can do before the end of the year.
For me, just the opposite impulse.
It’s almost Solstice. The nights are long and the mornings are cold. Inside, only the tree lights and a little holiday lamp are illuminated. It’s dim and comfy and inviting.
These are days to savor: baking, writing cards, making and wrapping gifts. These are the days leading up to the Great Pause.
I’m trying to let the hurry flow over me. It will get where it’s going — but I won’t be with it.
From yesterday’s ice storm to this morning’s fog. Air filled with the promise of robins. A warm breeze, a freshet, a stowaway on the south wind.
It’s not exactly to the break-even point yet, but I’m definitely ordering more holiday gifts online this year, and my sister is, too. So based on this highly unscientific sampling of two, I think there’s a trend here.
(I’m not so far off on this trend definition. When I wrote pieces for women’s magazines, a “trend” was something that you and a couple of your close friends were noticing — after which you dug up enough evidence to convince your editors it was really happening.)
But, back to this year’s shopping stats, I do have real, tangible proof: the piles of boxes in front of the houses in my neighborhood.
Usually you see lots of boxes after the holidays, not before. But no more.
‘Tis the season for FedEx and UPS and even the lowly ole US Post Office — and the containers they leave behind. They’re making the Yuletide jolly. And easier, too.
It’s been a while since I spent a day in bed, but that’s what I did yesterday. Not a relaxing, lolling-about day, but an oh-so-sick day. In fact, a lost day, 24 hours sucked from the calendar with little to show for it other than survival.
The experience, what I want to relive of it (not much!), was disorienting. Time was telescoped. Dreams bled from sleep into waking. There was an in-and-out wooziness to it all that was unsettling and unnerving.
Today I managed to make my way downstairs. I tried sitting up but found that lying down feels much, much better. So this will be a halfway day: some work and some resting.
But I’m doing it in a living room transformed. The family tree outing happened yesterday as planned, so while I was incapacitated, Santa and his elves found the tree, chopped it down, transported it here and set it up in its usual corner. All it needs now are lights and ornaments. It’s my get-well project!
A window of time opened up, a confluence of hour and place. I understood what I had to do and when I had to do it. So I followed vague directions to the outlet shops I knew were there in theory but had never reached from that starting point.
And when I got there the sun was setting, a disc on fire slipping behind the faux roofs. I watched it slide away, assembled my list, had a bite to eat and gathered my courage.
It was a quiet evening. Who shops on Friday night? People like me, I realized. Women with determination in their eyes and lists in their hands. As the evening wore on, not just lists but shopping bags, too.
There comes a point in the season when you are finally into it. You have gone too far not to be. From here there will be tree-cutting, hauling and decorating. There will be more shopping (I hope not too much more!), There will be baking and card-writing and stocking-hanging and all of it, right up to the cacophony of Christmas morning.
‘Tis the season, you know.