Merry Christmas

Merry Christmas, however that term holds meaning for you, and Happy Holidays.

I am finding my day away from my family this year. They are only a few minutes down the road, but it is still "away". My eldest daughter has a new family and new traditions to celebrate the day this year, as this is her first Christmas as a young married woman. My youngest, at sixteen is at home with my husband, I am sure playing Half-Life on her new Xbox, wearing her vintage-style motorcycle goggles, rainbow toe socks on her feet, courtesy of what she found under the tree yesterday.

I guess at sixteen, one can be flexible on which day to open presents.

I was not there to witness the unwrapping, as I am hovering over my dad for the next two weeks as he recuperates from open heart surgery. I have a feeling that he'll soon tire of me and kick me out, which is a good thing. He is doing amazingly well. Dad is navigating stairs and doing most routines on his own. When one thinks of the process of open heart surgery, being placed on a heart-lung bypass machine, having parts replaced and plumbing re-routed, keeping the body oxygenated while the heart is temporally turned off until it is zapped back into service...it almost makes the mechanics of the body, well, mechanical. Simple. But as we all know, the body is more complex than that.

So, my Christmas Day is spent back in my childhood home, waking up in my childhood bed. The bed is shorter than I remember, the room my bed now resides in smaller. The night-time sounds are the same, though. The expansion and contraction of the one-hundred year old home are the same as they were when I was a child, only this time I know they are not sounds of secret monsters in my closet or under my bed. The smells are the same, scents that evoke memories spanning forty years. Memories of those no longer inhabiting this space. Memories of my mom.

I awoke early this morning, and still in my jammies snuck downstairs, not to see a Christmas tree and a pile of presents, but to see my Dad, sitting in his easy chair, a cup of coffee on his side table.

"Good morning," he greeted me.

It was the best Christmas present I could have ever received.

De-Holidizing

I am slowing removing ornaments from my tree. My tree did look nice this year (although picture sucks), surprising since the mood I was in was less than festive. But it needs to come down. Big tree + Small house = Does Not Work. I really tried to keep it displayed until after New Year's, but I am really having a hard time with it twinkling happily. Today, it just seems to be mocking me. So, it's time to dismantle. My nod to Christianity (my antique creche) is safely ensconced in bubble-wrap.

Funny story about the creche...My parents bought it for my first Christmas (their second). Very rustic, very tastefully done. Probably a dime-a dozen back in the early Sixties, but now it is a special part of my life. Anyway, my mom was a chronic Deck The Haller. If she could have a decorated tree in every room of the house, she would have. The only reason the house outside wasn't as heavily decorated was Mom didn't want Dad taking a chance falling off the roof.

Okay, back to the creche' (hang around here long enough, and you will discover I am the queen of digressing without aid of a segue.) Every year, my Mom would put out the creche, then top the roof with sheets of cotton, then finish off with a sprinkling of Ivory Soap flakes and a small string of white lights.

Finally, years later, my Dad pointed out, "Christ was born in the desert, wasn't he? So why the snow?" My Dad wasn't being a smart-ass...okay, he was. But, that is what I like about my dad.

The other day, my youngest was telling me that she used to take her fingers and pretend she was walking up the stairs of the manger.

So did I, when I was her age.

I know who I will be passing the creche on to in the future.