Adeste Fideles
The rain is falling softly outside as the afternoon stretches into the night before Christmas. While our winter wonderland might not be white, the spirit of Christmas is strong in our hearts.
The tree stands proudly in the main room; tall this year to accommodate the height of the ceilings, it reaches to over nine feet. My daughter and I entertained ourselves a couple of weeks ago, as we usually do at this lovely time, by unwrapping beloved ornaments and sprucing up our collection with a few fresh faces. Our newest came all the way from St Petersburg this year; a gift from a gymnastics coach who is dear to both of us. Presents have been arriving from near and far; after the flying visit of a certain red cloaked gentleman at midnight, the treasures will be complete.
Whilst the external landscape is muted in grey at present, the flame of happiness in the home burns fiercely bright. It occured to me recently that this is an unintended consequence of the past months. Every opportunity for sharing joy is appreciated fully; vignettes of blazing colour etched into a bleak and fading background. We’ve baked mince pies and Christmas cookies, made decorations and shared conversation both light hearted and serious with friends. Our daughter chatters of sleigh rides and Santa Claus. She enjoys the seasonal flavours with a five year old’s infectious glee; our world is warmer for it. In the midst of a period where we are busier than ever before, I’m glad that the kaleidoscope of our experience can settle a little. We will share the quiet tomorrow and move in simple happiness.
As I sit, surrounded by wrapping paper and presents, I am stolen away by a momentary day dream. I listen to The Pogues’ Fairytale of New York and my mind drifts backwards, remembering those Christmases we once enjoyed in Manhattan. I am dreaming of another world. A land of snow-filled enchantment where the relationship between myself and the world I experienced was unexamined and poorly understood. As I sail back up the the singing river of memory to the present, contentment, hard won and not easily found, takes me by the hand. We smile in recognition of a lesson that has been a long time in the learning. Christmas, like everything else, is in the heart. One can be in the midst of the snowiest day in the most glamorous of locations and be a universe away from this understanding. I move to my white chaise longue and gaze out of our bedroom window in California, a place whose winter warmth and sunshine I refused for so long to accept. I’m closer to that Christmas state of mind and that’s good enough for now.
