This sweet little glitter snowglobe came from my sister, Scissorina.
Scott and I have never really been Christmas people. This is mainly due to the fact that we aren't actually Christians. I'm more or less a Buddhist, and Scott is, well… Scott can tell you what Scott is. Just ask him sometime.
Because of our odd-ball spiritual directions it always seemed illogical to make a big to-do about Christmas. It felt phony, I guess. Our families are all varying degrees of Catholic and Christian so we always participate in the hub-ub, but we never put up a tree or anything on our own. Most years we don't even exchange gifts with eachother. The materialism that Christmas can sometimes embody is the place where my own beliefs tend to conflict with the holiday season, so buying things to show I care feels kind of weird.
Don't get me wrong. I love giving gifts, and naturally, I enjoy getting them. It's not so much the gift-giving that bugs me. It's more how that gift-giving tends to overwhelm everyone, making people crabby, mean, or obsessed. It feels like it's working against the spirit that Christmas ought to be encouraging.
The season, the holiday itself, even the madness that seems to go along with it all is pretty much OK in my book. Underneath all of the nasty commercialism, the snow-covered blanket of stress, and the weird emotional confusion that seems to accompany Christmas, there is a lot of love. The intention is to make eachother happy, and to spend time with the people you love. How could I have a bone to pick with that?
I always assumed that when we moved in to a house things would stay the same. Our participation in Christmas would be understated. But with my parents coming to visit something had changed. They are staying with us this year, and my Mom LOVES Christmas. That is to say it is her favorite holiday ever. She loves Christmas the way that I love my favorite spot by the lake, or the memory of my childhood house. Christmas isn't just a holiday to her. It's more like a home, a place where all of her loved ones live forever in a happy, pine-scented, glitter-covered wonderland.
So we put up a tree. We nailed multi-colored lights to our house. We even inflated her seven foot tall Christmas moose outside. I'm still trying to maintain some level of non-materialism. Instead of buying ornaments, Scott and I folded little paper cranes for the tree. We made some of our gifts by hand, and I'm kept a healthy distance from the holiday decor section at Hobby Lobby. But it's tough. A part of me that I was totally unaware of has opened up, and for some reason she wants to cover everything in glitter and twinkle lights.
I guess I do love Christmas after all, because I love my Mom.
And now she's here, filling my house with the smell of freshly baked cookies. My Mom has an annual tradition of baking scores and scores of cookies this time of year. No matter where I've been, or where she's been, a tin full of cookies always seem to appear on my doorstep in December, reminding me that I'm loved. This year, with the world feeling so very wrong in so many ways, the comfort of a familiar tasting cookie matters more than ever. It's amazing what a little butter, flour, and sugar can do for your soul. Mine is still sore, so I hope she'll just keep on baking.
We'll be having freinds over for a little holiday celebration. Part of me wanted to cancel, feeling guilty for finding happiness when so many people are enduring the pain of loss. But then, I know life has to go on, and succuming to grief won't do me, or anyone else any good. My sisters suggested adding a craft table to the event, so guests could cut snowflakes for Newtown schools. It's not much, but maybe sending these little tokens of love will help ease the pain, just a little.
Sadly, Christmas in my family has a history of loss and grief. Loved ones have passed over the holidays more than any other time of year. This makes every year-end bittersweet. It's a time to let go of hurt, say goodbye to those we've lost, and cherish the people we love, knowing that we can't hold on to them forever. I was a kid the last time we endured a loss during the holidays, so this is the first year that I've felt that pain so directly, and my first opportunity to use old traditions, like cookies and lobster bisque to help trasform hurt into happiness.
In a way, I felt fortunate to be home in Connecticut when everything happened. I was able to see and touch each of the kids I loved, reassuring that they were OK. If it hadn't beeen for Christmas, I would have been so far away. Home in Austin, being with my parents and sisters, hearing their laughter, enjoying their closeness, feels like the only thing that can begin to heal my heart. I think from now on, I'll always be grateful to Christmas for bringing us together when I needed them so badly.
Thank you Christmas.