The simple things in life
This Christmas season has been quite different than any previous in my life. Although in some ways the differences have been good, overwhelmingly, the change has left quite a sour taste in my mouth at first.
I believe that change is a good thing. It keeps one on his or her toes and always nothing to become too familiar or comfortable. Yet change also forces you to move on in life, and I can't help drudging my heels trying to look back to glimpse at what my life once was. Christmas time in the past was filled with memories of wrapping gifts in front of the fireplace (without a fire lit....it doesn't get THAT cold in South Carolina) while listening to Christmas music. Sarah would be in the kitchen baking away as she always did (those where the days when she still wanted to go to cullinary school). I remember feeling so liberated once school was out...no special time to get up, no dreading sunday night. I would get up and watch I Love Lucy and Home Improvement with my sister and mother.
But something that always seems to be the penacle event of the season was decorating the christmas tree. Mom always opted out of the event saying "It's not my holiday!", which was true...we had just finished up celebrating Chanukah only a few days before. So my dad, sister and I would haul packages of decorations from the attic and carefully unpack all the ornaments. Dad would begin the string the lights around the tree. He was deadset on remaining with the large colored lightbulbs although every other family had now moved onto the bulbs over less than half the size, but that was and still is my father...the eternal traditionalist and conservative. He would make sure everything was symmetrical and evenly spread and then came the fun part...the tinsle and ornaments. Dad would remind us that less is more and we were shown exactly how to sprinkle the tinsel over the bristels so that the tree glistened in the lights. My greataunt Betty always sent us ornaments from New York City. They were always so classy and elegant and chic. After all the hard work, my mother would come in to inspect and judge and always with the largest smile on her face.
That changed this year for a number of reasons. Sarah was married in June and had her own tree to decorate this year. Dad was in Hilton Head mending to his parents upcoming move to Aiken. So that left me. Mom offered to help, but I knew that it just wasn't her thing and after trimming the branch, the strong scent of pine reacted poorly with her allergies. All alone I clipped and shaped the tree then set out the string of lights and began placing them on the tree. Knowing how maticulous my father was (and how I inherited his nature), this became a hour and a half task. Then came the garland and finally the ornaments. It wasn't until I hung the first one that I began to get a little depressed. And thank God for small miracles, right as the first tear slid down my cheek did my sister and her fiance walk through the kitchen door. I wiped the tear away as quick as I could as Sarah came in and immediately picked up a box. There we stood together placing ornaments on the tree. We both agreed this year was quite different. To our surprise, minutes later my father returned home just in time to place the silver staff on the top of the tree. Somehow the pains of change eased as, arm in arm, I stood with my father and sister admiring a job well done.
In conclusion, although the order of events in our lives change and traditions are altered, the love of family never ceased to mend a wounded spirit.
I believe that change is a good thing. It keeps one on his or her toes and always nothing to become too familiar or comfortable. Yet change also forces you to move on in life, and I can't help drudging my heels trying to look back to glimpse at what my life once was. Christmas time in the past was filled with memories of wrapping gifts in front of the fireplace (without a fire lit....it doesn't get THAT cold in South Carolina) while listening to Christmas music. Sarah would be in the kitchen baking away as she always did (those where the days when she still wanted to go to cullinary school). I remember feeling so liberated once school was out...no special time to get up, no dreading sunday night. I would get up and watch I Love Lucy and Home Improvement with my sister and mother.
But something that always seems to be the penacle event of the season was decorating the christmas tree. Mom always opted out of the event saying "It's not my holiday!", which was true...we had just finished up celebrating Chanukah only a few days before. So my dad, sister and I would haul packages of decorations from the attic and carefully unpack all the ornaments. Dad would begin the string the lights around the tree. He was deadset on remaining with the large colored lightbulbs although every other family had now moved onto the bulbs over less than half the size, but that was and still is my father...the eternal traditionalist and conservative. He would make sure everything was symmetrical and evenly spread and then came the fun part...the tinsle and ornaments. Dad would remind us that less is more and we were shown exactly how to sprinkle the tinsel over the bristels so that the tree glistened in the lights. My greataunt Betty always sent us ornaments from New York City. They were always so classy and elegant and chic. After all the hard work, my mother would come in to inspect and judge and always with the largest smile on her face.
That changed this year for a number of reasons. Sarah was married in June and had her own tree to decorate this year. Dad was in Hilton Head mending to his parents upcoming move to Aiken. So that left me. Mom offered to help, but I knew that it just wasn't her thing and after trimming the branch, the strong scent of pine reacted poorly with her allergies. All alone I clipped and shaped the tree then set out the string of lights and began placing them on the tree. Knowing how maticulous my father was (and how I inherited his nature), this became a hour and a half task. Then came the garland and finally the ornaments. It wasn't until I hung the first one that I began to get a little depressed. And thank God for small miracles, right as the first tear slid down my cheek did my sister and her fiance walk through the kitchen door. I wiped the tear away as quick as I could as Sarah came in and immediately picked up a box. There we stood together placing ornaments on the tree. We both agreed this year was quite different. To our surprise, minutes later my father returned home just in time to place the silver staff on the top of the tree. Somehow the pains of change eased as, arm in arm, I stood with my father and sister admiring a job well done.
In conclusion, although the order of events in our lives change and traditions are altered, the love of family never ceased to mend a wounded spirit.