A Walker in the Suburbs

Even though I worked last Thursday and Friday, I did so at home, so tomorrow looms as the first real return day. In reflecting over the Christmas that was, I relive the lovely moments with family and friends, surely the highlight of this or any other holiday.

I also recall a day I’ll remember for its contentment, when I felt strangely happy. I say strangely because I was fighting a cold and still had a lot to do: all the cards to write, gifts to wrap and baking to do. But the tree was up and decorated and a marathon of biblical movies flickered on TV.

I addressed envelopes and curled ribbons to the soundtrack from “King of Kings” (I watched the film some too, but I listened more than looked). The majesty of that music seemed more fitting than any Christmas carol, and I went about my holiday tasks with a new sense of meaning and anticipation.

It was just a moment, but it was such a pleasant one that it seems to encapsulate all this holiday’s happy moments. Now I sit in front of that same tree, which must soon be taken down, and, well, I just wish I could do it all over again.

Even the numbers look futuristic, and our new year is nothing if not balanced. Is it my imagination or is there a hopefulness among these digits, a sense of vision clear and untrammeled?

It’s too soon to tell, of course, but I’ll enter the new year like I always try to: with more hope than trepidation. I’ll take some deep breaths before the messiness of daily living intrudes upon this blank slate.

And for today, before the newness wears off, I’ll do my usual Janus thing: look back at the past, craft resolutions for the future … and of course, eat plenty of black-eyed peas.

Tomorrow is the end not just of a year but a decade, so in case this warrants two posts instead of one, I’d better get busy.

First, 2019 wasn’t nearly long enough. It’s a trait this year shares with its recent predecessors and will, I fear, share with its successors, too. On the other hand, the year didn’t drag with direness so I can’t complain.

It’s a year that saw increasing dissension and partisanship, in our country and others, and I worry that 2020 will be worse in that regard.

Then there is the almost 70-degree high predicted for today and all that stands for in terms of climate change and environmental health.

As I look out my window at the bird feeder and the sparrows clustering around it, though, I see a balm for much of what ails us — our dear old Earth, which grows more precious by the hour.

The day was grand, filled with family and food and thoughtful gifts. In its wake there is gratitude and satiety and relief that I’ve no more gifts to buy!

Almost always after Christmas, I long for a cleansing, a de-cluttering, a new broom to sweep away the cobwebs.

At war with this instinct is the urge to relax, to actually do nothing except read, write and watch movies. And right now … that’s what’s winning!

Once again the days have passed, the splendid ones and the trying ones. Once again we’ve come back to this point, which is for me, and for many, the great pause. Christmas Day. Soon to be followed by New Year’s Day and the delicious week in between. Once again I’ll re-run this blog post, one I wrote in 2011. Merry Christmas!

There are fewer cards on the mantel each year, it seems — Facebook and high postage rates at work as well as the lovely ecards that I treasure, too. I still send out a slew of hard-copy photo cards, as I have every year since Suzanne was born. And I still cherish each card that comes in, maybe even more so now.

This year’s crop brings much joyous news of health battles overcome (or at least at stalemate), of new babies here or on the way, of friends moving back to the area.

The mantel is a bit more crowded this year with a new clock, so I’m making room for the cards on the table, where I can pick them up and read them over and over.

They are, as always, a reminder of what matters most, of love and fellowship, of the fact that we are fellow travelers on the way — and that this is a time to rejoice.