gratitude remembered
January 1, 2017 § 3 Comments
It is one of the few intentions I have muscled into tradition, the jar of notes we read aloud on New Year’s to remember the year past. A hodgepodge of paper scraps in mismatched handwriting; moments of gratitude we collect over the course of each year.
There’s magic in the happy exclamations of remembering, a current of joy that leaps from page to person as we take turns sounding out one another’s celebrations. The notes are read out of order and without ownership so that each memory becomes a curious discovery.
This year the greater joy came from those misplaced moments. The events and good fortune forgotten on paper that we collectively called into account. The act of reading expanding to accommodate left out Remember When’s.
Small moments and sentimental milestones that map the past in a constellation of family.
last minute
December 21, 2015 § Leave a comment
There are three more days of school before we break for the holiday. Three days for last-minute gifts and groceries; time enough to plan a little magic in this, a new season, of joy.
Gone are the years of elaborate gingerbread houses, little fingers sticky with frosting and candy scattered to the far corners of progress. No longer do I wrap our packages with intricate bows or hide the seams of my wrapping by laboring over the folds with hot glue. I’ve stopped staging our home for a Christmas card, becoming almost reckless in my disregard for dramatic details.
In the beginning I was performing to the expectations of impossible standards to please my husband’s family and delight my children with a storybook fairytale. I thought I might preserve make-believe with carefully choreographed awe and excessive measures of enthusiasm. Except, I was exhausted by the work of performing a disingenuous act of joy.
I was raised with a simpler experience of magic, the company of loved ones and the smell of baked goods. I cannot remember a single gift, but I can close my eyes and remember the generosity of peace that marks my memories and the wealth of love made invaluable by time spent with family. I wish I had honored these traditions earlier, before I adopted the superficial demonstrations inherent in my husband’s memories.
Our children rallied against unhappy traditions, in want of simpler experiences almost as soon as they could speak their mind. Unimpressed with the decorative packaging that was my husband’s family’s hallmark, they hated the seams that would not tear beneath layers of glue. They bemoaned the nagging directives in sharp tones from grandparents who demanded they preserve each ribbon. They endured with sullen postures the formality of Christmas morning brunch; traditional foods set against pristine table cloths and heirloom quality place settings with little room for cheer.
For some time I tried to please both generations.
New traditions became apologies for patience. To drown out the demands of unwrapping gifts, I let my children scatter their mess with joy. We saved the ribbon but buried our floor beneath hastily torn wrapping paper. I packed away my china and snuck donuts onto countertops, a small concession for the menu of dreaded hash. I created a new dress code that restricted our children from properly dressing for the day and refused, myself, to change out of pajamas.
Little changes that acknowledged the brevity of childhood. Still misery found its way to our doorstep with sharp tongues and crude demonstrations of excess. So we tucked our happiness beneath tolerance and waited for each departure to relax into an uncomplicated contentment for simpler traditions. We swept away the wealth of material gifts for more charitable purposes and settled into play.
This year we have invited new guests to preserve a spirit of love that embraces less with gifts of mindfulness. Magic guarded by a menu of frivolous fun with a few special gifts wrapped with haste to be opened with abandon and cheer. Last minute festivities to linger across years of happier memories.
I’m still holding sacred gingerbread houses of Christmases past with gratitude for a less cluttered season of now.
signed, sealed, delivered
December 4, 2015 § 2 Comments
There is a sensory memory to my love of holiday cards; the scratch of pen against paper and the crinkle of thick envelopes, even the bitterness of the seal crinkles my nose with a childish delight.
Over the years the busyness of the season consumed the leisurely joy of handwritten letters and demanded a more convenient choice; a single image with pre-printed wishes mailed to an ever growing population of acquaintances.
This year I’m embracing the transition of our move and returning to a beloved tradition; handwritten messages folded into card stock stuffed with a candid photo to mark the passage of another year. Strokes of ink in looping wishes that curl like steam around a cup of cocoa.
It is a selfish indulgence, this whittling of lists, but it is also a more intimate gesture of intention. A small meditative act during a season too often cluttered with distraction.
to my daughter
August 9, 2015 § 2 Comments
Last year an unhappy surprise stole the sweetness of your smile. Ten was a difficult birthday, a complicated celebration with more unkindness than candles. Despite canceled plans and casual criticisms, you kept your chin up and welcomed double digits with a tolerance for unwelcome guests in the name of family.
This year we greeted the day with a quieter presence. We planned our own surprise and guarded the space of your joy with a greater appreciation for your needs over empty obligations to unhealthy relationships. Ten was a year of too many sorrows, your father and I agreed that we can no longer afford to willfully squander the celebrations of your childhood on certain unhappiness for the sake of empty responsibilities.
This birthday, for every tradition we created space enough for change to accommodate new expectations of healthier days.
Rather than streamers stretched across the threshold to your room, we crossed miles to walk the rooms of our new home. Between these walls we found new smiles over happy discoveries as you explored the promise of adventures to come.
Instead of best friends and classmates gathered under our roof, you shared the day with family and long distance friends under sunny skies. False bravado was replaced with genuine contentment for the company of uncomplicated loved ones and we relaxed into a less guarded posture of peace.
Rather than celebrating around our dinning room table with a homemade cake and a late night sleepover, we substituted with store bought cupcakes around a hotel room rumpled from late night movies. The celebration drifted between outdoor interests and poolside antics; favorite restaurants and curious window shopping.
In place of presents that would be quickly repacked in anticipation of moving, you acquired tiny keepsakes of the day to celebrate our move. Farmers market trinkets and mementos to be gifted to others.
It was a beautiful day, uncomplicated and unstructured; held together by family, friends, and home. Instead of themes and stages, passing interests and favorite colors or unhappy surprises and uninvited guests, this birthday will be remembered for a single image and colorful phrase.
You named the year Eleventeen and leaned into a more relaxed posture of togetherness for a fleeting snapshot that hinted at so much history to come. This is how I will forever remember your day; brushstrokes of individuality and tradition that spell family.
Love, Mom
blarney
March 17, 2015 § 4 Comments
Years ago, when my daughter was young enough to be passionately invested in a pristine pair of starched white socks, I accidentally washed them into an unexpected shade of green. Eager to distract my daughter’s disappointment, I suggested it may have been a leprechaun up to a bit of mischief for St. Patrick’s Day.
This morning my daughter began her search for evidence of shenanigans. A silly sabotage to favorite socks has inspired a series of traditions that are now hallmarks of our holidays with a promise of playful pageantry. Easter bunny “accidents” on the stairway, a curious confectionary mess, and April Fool’s meals made into mistaken menus, savory turned sweet and once visa versa.
Today, as I shuffle green pencils in place of our trusty yellow number 2’s, I am thinking of the sweetness of these early years; playful accidents of good fortune that permit us all to linger a little longer in poppycock and blarney.
something borrowed, something new
December 4, 2011 § Leave a comment
Our family’s first Christmas traditions were borrowed from my husband’s childhood, lending familiarity and nostalgia to our home. Years later we have begun to embrace occasions to create something new among the borrowed.
We begin with the old, each year gently unpacking my husband’s collection of nutcrackers. Brightly colored, wooden forms stand sentry near the tree. A wooden advent and two smokers rest among them; each item quietly acknowledging a piece of my husband’s heritage and youth.
Our once calm tree, dusted in a blanket of tranquil white lights is now a kaleidoscope of color. The brilliance and whimsy of the lights a celebration of our children’s effervescent joy. The train circling beneath the boughs something from our earliest Christmas as a family; small signs of wear from clumsy toddler fists and little scratches stirring memories of a family pet no longer with us nestle shared memories like forgotten gifts beneath the tree.
European glass ornaments rest among handmade mementos marking the passing of time. This year my daughter stood beside me gently unpacking our decorations, pausing to marvel at the beauty of each item. I filled the seconds between discoveries sharing brief stories about the origin of each ornament as we placed them on the tree.
Tomorrow evening my children will set out their boots for St. Nicholas, a tradition of their father’s childhood. Then they will wake in search of the Elf on the Shelf, a new tradition gifted from my mother sharing in our holidays across the miles. Most recently, in the hope of celebrating our blessings and to center our spirits in a place of gratitude, I shared a new book with both children while we decorated our tree. In the pages of an old story, we found a gentle reminder that our greatest gifts are free. To share in our something new, look between the pages of Ed Mehler’s lovely holiday story The Scrawny Little Tree.
Borrowed and new the season is filled with happy memories and new celebrations as we share the company of loved ones gathered by the light of the tree.
making a list, checking it twice
November 16, 2011 § Leave a comment
It’s that time of year, the air has turned cooler and the wind sends me scuttling inside after a forgotten scarf or gloves. Mother Nature gently reminds me that winter is around the corner and with it the festive busyness of Christmastime. In anticipation of familiar holiday routines, I have begun my list of things to do.
Christmas cards are the pre-season tradition I most look forward to. I have not taken the time to hand-write messages in years and while I miss the quiet, individual endeavor; I am content to label envelopes that will carry pictures of my children to family and friends. My life long love affair with mail is heightened over the holidays and I watch for the mailwoman eager to exchange a greeting and collect seasonal tidings of joy. This is the first sign of the season as I gather materials in the hopes of sending warm wishes soon after Thanksgiving.
Cookie making I save for winter break, an activity more enjoyable when shared with tiny hands. My island covered with flour and sprinkled with conversation makes for a delightful indoor activity on a cool winter’s day. An afternoon indulgence of warm baked goods and cocoa are a pleasant break from holiday errands and outdoor play. I am less traditional and entirely spontaneous when baking. Each year the cookies are predictably different from seasons past, old favorites and new samplings eclectically gathered like old friends and new in celebration.
Christmas gifting. I try to shop locally, happy to extend my errands to visit with friendly faces behind boutique counters and to window shop quaint storefronts appreciative of the festive decorations that twinkle against snow and lights. In an imperfect world the warm glow of lights and infectious good cheer of strangers makes neatly wrapped presents gifts secondary to kindness and good cheer.
The days between Thanksgiving and New Year’s Eve move to the soundtrack of familiar songs. I hum, accompany off-key, and twirl between activities, happy to breath in the sounds of the season. Quiet will settle only long enough for little ears to listen diligently, half asleep for the sound of stomping feet and bells on Christmas Eve.
Decking the halls and planning meals will keep my feet planted in reality while my head swims with daydreams of sugar plums. Classic holiday stories and old movies will gather my family near in restful moments of stillness balancing seasonal outings. It is a time of believing in the possibility of magic and giving thanks for the blessings of loved one’s. The greatest gifts will go unwrapped, the sweetest treats stolen moments in good company.
scribblechic 