“It is good just to sit quietly in that place of loss and sadness, and let the feelings be feelings.”—Jeanette Winterson in Christmas Days: 12 Stories and 12 Feasts for 12 Days.
I’m half in the middle of unpacking from Tenakee, sorting mail, catching up on correspondence, stocking the fridge (this week’s barge didn’t get in with the milk until today) and preparing for Christmas. I put lights on Chip’s moose antlers, cut some fresh greens (quickly, it is below zero out there) and hung up the stained-glass pane with the chickadee and holly that reminds me of Betty, who has been dead, I’m not sure how many Christmases now. I gave her a matching one.
Of course, one loss leads to another and before I realized it I was crying and saying prayers for all the people who used to populate my Christmastimes, homes, tables, churches, schools— and I was suddenly so sad with anticipatory grief—who won’t be here next year?—That I sent a donation in memory of my cousin to the camp he worked at and made a pot of my mother’s favorite stewed prunes and apricots. (Mom died 20 years ago.) I’m the only one who eats them.
This is such a manic season isn’t it? One minute you are running around in the snow the next you are collapsed on the floor by the fire.
Unpacking Christmas books (I have a lot) makes me think of not only Christmases of my youth but even in this house– which used to be so crazy with five kids. Then, I wished for a little peace. Tea and poetry by the fire and all that. Now, I’m thinking we should have gotten them that Nintendo game…
This morning Beth and I found a place almost out of the wind to walk the dogs, but it was still face- wrapping cold. She said the weather makes her knees feel like 90.
I said, I know that I’m supposed to embrace the winter slow-down, settle into the hygge of it, but I feel lazy if I do.I can hear my father (God rest his soul) saying pick up the pace, Heath- and I’m ten years younger than Beth.
“11,” she corrected.
“When I’m your age, I’ll be dead,” I said—and then I couldn’t stop laughing.
I felt so much better– and she laughed too- and even telling you this now makes me laugh — and don’t you think– seriously — that maybe acknowledging the darker moods of the season is the same as embracing the longer nights?
I don’t only have children’s Christmas books. One of my favorites is Jeanette Winterson’s Christmas Days. She writes perfectly of the wonderful, but less-than-Hallmark moments and can make me laugh and cry. Plus she shares recipes. Just read this:
But, you may say, what has all this got to do with cheese crispies? ….
