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Category: holidays

The Christmas Position

The Christmas Position

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I’m in what I’ve come to think of as my Christmas position. Unlike the warrior pose or downward dog, this position requires very little of the joints and tendons. It is, in fact, a posture of repose, of satiation. 

All that’s required is that I plop down on the couch, facing north, a pile of  books beside me and (sometimes, like now) a laptop in my lap, and savor the Christmas tree, which is, as always, the most beautiful one we’ve ever had, the fullest and most aromatic. 

I’m not usually able to still and just be, but this time of year, when I’m in the Christmas position, that’s all I want to do. 

Wreathed in Fog

Wreathed in Fog

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A soft fog last night as I drove to a meeting. A fog that made the lighted trees and homes send halo-like rainbows into the gloom. 

Our house is finally among the decorated, with candles in the windows and lights along the roof and a big old wreath that I bought as a splurge because it smells so much nicer than the artificial one — and also because it was made by Bradley’s mother. 

That would be Bradley from Whitetop Mountain, Virginia, the same fellow we bought from last year. He apologized that the trees cost more this December and said he would “work with us” on the price. I bought the wreath to up the total. Bradley and his family could use it, I imagine. 

And now the wreath and the lights are shaking their fists at the darkness. In less than two weeks, the days start growing longer. 

Malls of America

Malls of America

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Darkened storefronts, sparse merchandise, even the busy Apple store was quiet yesterday at the mall. True, it was a rainy Tuesday more than two weeks away from the big day, but even a few years ago it would have been bustling. Not for the first time I ask myself … where have all the people gone? 

They’re in their homes, collecting Amazon deliveries. While in the sad cavernous halls poor souls wander, looking for candles or purses or calendars, strolling through clouds of perfume and the scent of cinnamon rolls, listening to yet another rendition of “I’ll Be Home for Christmas.”.

I’ve never been a mall lover, always held them responsible for the death of downtowns, but yesterday’s trip made me feel sorry for them — and for us.

Farewell, Leftovers

Farewell, Leftovers

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For some, today might be TGIF. For others, only 22 more shopping days till Christmas. For me, it’s the last day to eat Thanksgiving leftovers. Yesterday I eked one final turkey sandwich out of the bird, the day before that I ate the last cup of stuffing and final piece of pumpkin pie. 

Today it’s down to the molded cranberry salad, which has been whittled from a large serving bowl to one a fraction of its size.

Before I’m drummed out of town on reckless eating charges, let me say that I’ve written a few food safety articles and know the drill. I keep hot foods hot and cold foods cold. I avoid cross-contamination at all costs, treating raw chicken prep areas as if they were hazmat zones. 

But I also like to get as much mileage as I can from any big meal I cook — and last Thursday’s was a doozy.  

(Apparently, I don’t take many food pictures, either.)

Empty Corner

Empty Corner

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The living room is larger today. Wing chairs are back in their usual places, flanking the grandfather clock. It’s easier to reach books on the far shelves, and plants can stretch and breathe. 

What’s missing is the Christmas tree, fragrant and bedazzled. The tree that blocked the bookshelves and required major furniture rearranging. The tree that bore the weight of glass globes, tin stars and ceramic angels with grace and dignity. 

This morning I moved toward the far corner of the living room to turn on the tree lights, as I have been every day for more than three weeks. I was ready once again to be bathed only in its reds, greens and blues. 

Then I remembered, the corner is empty, the tree is gone. This morning, I sit in its shadow.

Here’s to the 2s

Here’s to the 2s

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We are launched now into a universe of 2s. The year 2022. Grandchildren who will be turning two this year. And something else that will, I’m sure, soon come to mind. 

Time to ponder the beauty of the number, its rounded hump, the way the zero looks tucked between the 2s. There is an elegance there, a hopefulness, too. 

Long ago there was an advertisement for a car rental company, Avis, I believe, which said, in effect, “We’re number two. We try harder.”

Let’s hope this year’s 2s try harder, too. 

(Photo: Creative Commons)

Gliding Smoothly

Gliding Smoothly

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What is this urge to declutter, to glide simply and smoothly into the new year? Last evening I felt a sudden need to tidy up my desktop. Into the trash went receipts for orders already delivered, backup copies of documents already submitted.

This morning I’m checking streaming entertainment accounts, wondering if I can shed any of them. Perhaps the doubling-down of a pandemic is not the time to have fewer entertainment options, though, so I’ve left them temporarily in place. 

Of course, the tidying that really needs to happen isn’t virtual; it’s the all-too-real piles of papers and files, the boxes of old clothes and bins of toys that I can no longer say I’m “holding for the grandchildren.” The grandchildren are here and they won’t be needing any armless Barbies, thank you very much.

Getting rid of all that stuff, I’m afraid, will have to wait till 2022. 

(These mallards will have no trouble gliding smoothly into the new year.)

Ticking Clock

Ticking Clock

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As I mentioned yesterday, these are open days. But what I don’t say is that the week between Christmas and New Years has usually been open for me. 

It was open when I was writing for a nonprofit and, before that, for a university. It was open during my freelance career. About the only time it wasn’t was early in my magazine-writing days, when I was a lowly assistant editor and had no accrued vacation time. I still remember how weird it felt to be going into an office the final week of December, even an office in midtown Manhattan. I was supposed to be staring into a fireplace or admiring a Christmas tree, not proofing copy!

Until this year, though, these precious holiday hours came with a price tag, a ticking clock. They always seemed luxuriously long on December 26th and 27th, but by December 29th and 30th, I was always wondering where the time had gone. 

These hours seemed to disappear at lightning speed, far more quickly than ordinary time, and inevitably I had nothing to show for them. That was the point, of course. It’s still the point. Only now the ticking clock has — sort of — disappeared.

Open Calendar

Open Calendar

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A tree, a couch, an open week. These are days when dreaming is possible, when sitting still and doing nothing is not only permissible but almost encouraged. 

School is out, holiday to-dos are to-done. The calendar is open, the tasks complete. Even nature seems to be holding its breath. Autumn behind us, winter yet to truly begin.

Yesterday I watched two old movies and an episode of “The Ascent of Man.” Today I may put away some gifts and do a bit of tidying.

But then again … I may not.