Weathered

Weathered

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We rushed home from Maryland to beat the snow, six to eight inches predicted and the flurries already flying as we raced around the Beltway. But by western Fairfax they had died down, and though it snowed off and on the rest of the day nothing much stuck. Instead the wind raged in from the west, blowing the few flakes sideways. I felt strangely disappointed; I was looking forward to the excitement of a big snow. But this morning comes the payback: no shoveling, a full house, a full pantry.

Merry Christmas!

Merry Christmas!

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Watch a movie every year and soon you will be able to predict each comment long before it’s made. All of us marvel at Bing’s mellifluous voice and Danny Kaye’s smooth dancing. There will be a disparaging word or two about Rosemary Clooney, despite my reminders that she was George Clooney’s aunt. And it’s true, this film is probably not her finest.

Her sister, played by a dancer named Vera-Ellen, earns the most comments for her impossibly long legs and tiny waist. It’s not easy to pig out on Christmas cookies while watching this movie.

Every year I get the giggles when the housekeeper, played by the great character actress Mary Wickes, just happens to be reading Variety while tending the phones. “What housekeeper reads Variety?” I shriek. “Mom, you say that every year!”

But we all do. That’s the joy of watching this movie together. The ritual of repetition, of small family traditions that come around each year — part of the joy of Christmas.

A Belief in the Unseen

A Belief in the Unseen

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Celia and I were talking in the car the other day about the meaning of Christmas. I was distracted, negotiating the traffic, thinking about what I had to do after I dropped her off. I mentioned the word “family.”

“I thought Thanksgiving was about family. It seems like every holiday is about family,” she said. And of course to me every holiday is about family, but in varying degrees.

What I should have said, what I wish I’d said, is that Christmas is about hope. It celebrates the birth of a baby king. Not a full-grown king but a king-in-making, and as such is more about the potential than the actual. It celebrates our turn back to the sun and days of warmth and light we can only dream of at this time of year.

It is, then, a day to celebrate something often in short supply in government, in families and in daily human lives — a belief in the unseen.

On the Street Where We Live

On the Street Where We Live

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Cold weather keeps a walker close to home. This means I’m once again a student of minute differences, noticing small changes to the landscape around me, a tree down in the forest, a garland on a mailbox, a new gathering spot for crows.

It is good to focus on what is in front of me; it doesn’t seem limiting in the least. The familiar can be full of surprises.

Moonscape

Moonscape

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I wasn’t going to get up for it, but I’m glad I did. At around 3 a.m. I put on clogs and coat and walked into the backyard. Suzanne and Tom were already up, their heads tilted back, binoculars in hand. Copper was running circles in the snow. And up in the sky, the pale moon wore a red veil, a smudge of unearthly color against the white.

It was the lunar eclipse — on the same day as the winter solstice. The last time these two events overlapped was 1638. It made for a cold, eerie, magical night. I half expected to see a sleigh and reindeer in the sky. I’ll have to wait a few days for those, I guess.

Tree Farm

Tree Farm

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Every year for the past half dozen we’ve driven west into the rolling hills of Loudoun County to cut down our Christmas tree. It started as a lark and has become a tradition, one we uphold even when cries of “it’s too far” or “I have homework” almost rule it out.

Yesterday we took two dear friends, so there were seven of us in the car, and it was an occasion. It didn’t take long to find the Douglas fir of our dreams, hack away at the trunk and topple the tree. We drug it down the mountainside, paid for it and lashed it to the top of the car.

This morning I learned that the Snickers Gap Christmas Tree Farm is closed for the season. We just made it.

A Push Toward the Pause

A Push Toward the Pause

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As the year ends I feel a need to tie up loose ends, finalize projects, complete research. Often I have no choice. I have a freelance article due. This year I’m off the hook. But I still feel pressure.

After a while, meeting deadlines becomes a habit and the urge to complete tasks is there whether the tasks are or not. It’s part of what makes me get up every morning. It’s a switch permanently stuck in the “on” position. I push myself before the holidays because they present a chunk of time during which nothing must be done. It’s the open window framing an expansive view — the pause I’ve been waiting for all year long. I’m not there yet, but I’m getting close.

Summoning Cheer

Summoning Cheer

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On the subject of holiday cheer: It is hard to summon sometimes. This year we are missing Tom’s Aunt Mary Ann and dealing with other sadness. Our tree isn’t up yet because we’re waiting for the girls to come home from college. Bad weather and postponed finals may delay their arrival. It’s easy to find the shopping, cards, baking and wrapping more demanding than other chores because they require false gaiety. How to lighten the heavy heart?

Here is today’s plan: I exercised early; it helps clears the cobwebs. I scoured the counter and threw out three days worth of old newspapers. I’ll work; intellectual effort takes me out of myself. I’ll make our favorite cookies today, the ones that melt in your mouth. I’ll pray; that goes without saying. Most of all I will be grateful for all we have, which is much, so much.

At Home in the World

At Home in the World

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It is office party season. We had one yesterday and will have a smaller one, with just my immediate colleagues, today. The office party, like the meeting, is something I didn’t have for many years, the years I was freelancing full time. It’s at parties and meetings that I most have to shake my head and pinch myself. After more than six years it still seems slightly unreal to be working with people again.

Today I write to celebrate this occupation. Not that it doesn’t have its moments, but there are days when I am immeasurably grateful to walk out the door, to leave behind the house and clutter, to go out into the world.

Ghostly White

Ghostly White

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The ghostly white on suburban streets is the residue of salt from a snow storm that wasn’t, a phantom blizzard. Rock salt crunches underfoot as I walk. The wind blows into my face, makes my eyes tear and my nose run. Other than that, all is frozen hard.

It’s a bleak landscape, unadorned by snow, wind-gouged and silent. Just being outside is an accomplishment, and walking through the cold reminds me that we have to keep going or freeze. Extreme temperatures are a great motivator. Besides, in my ears is a most unusual version of “The Four Seasons” by Vivaldi, full of strumming and thumping and trills. I could hear the birds singing, the streams gurgling. I listened, I lowered my head, I walked as fast as I could till I got home.