Holiday Hoopla

 

We did it. We got the tree up. All three trees, in fact, but the true triumph was in squeezing our six-and-a-half-footer into the corner where we originally thought it wouldn’t fit. We didn’t even try during our first two years in the new place; we bought a tabletop for the living room and made do with a reduction in favoured ornaments. And, no, it was nothing like the same.

This year, Ter lost it. She was absolutely determined to make the Big Tree possible; she even brought it up from the basement to test its dimensions in the corner. It’s embarrassing to admit, but if we had tried it the first year, the tabletop tree wouldn’t have been necessary. Let’s just forget that it never was necessary; at the time, our combined state of mind simply couldn’t do the math what with the stress of COVID, my father’s passing, and Christmas in a new environment.

I’m also somewhat chagrined to admit that the renewed excitement I felt for the holidays this year has seriously waned in the past few weeks. December is always a crash of work, life and seasonal obligation; ironically, Ter and I have ceased to exchange gifts between ourselves. All we want for Christmas is the lights, a few treats, our holiday movies, and the upstairs neighbour to go away for the winter. It appears that we may get our grownup Christmas wish, but man, it’s taking some time to manifest.

In the meantime, our annual obligations—which are less obligations than things we enjoy and want to do each year—require that we try to keep up with the season. Making matters worse is the threat of significant snow this week. Yup, with Santa Day looming, the weather gods are getting their own holly jollies. At least my work routine has ended for the calendar year, though keeping to it for the first half of December was its usual challenge. Or maybe its unusual challenge, given how things have changed in COVID’s wake.

Because they have changed. Or I have. I’m still working out the difference between what happened and what would have happened anyway. Until I figure it out for myself, I am a study in confused philosophy and am a lot less patient with it than I was in the Before Time. Perhaps I will use this holiday season to sort it out. I sure won’t be using the time to celebrate at the same rate as in Christmases past. Don’t get me wrong. I’m glad the house is decorated. I had a blast doing the cards. I’m enjoying the lights and the music. I relish having a dozen different cheeses in the fridge and ruby mimosas on a whim. And oat-based nog is a surprisingly favourable alternative to conventional eggnog, in case you’re wondering.

This holiday season will be spent sorting myself out—not terribly entertaining, I admit, but with pure intent to regain my former joie de vivre.

Assuming that my former joie de vivre ever existed, of course. Sometimes I forget who I was when I’m not impressed with who I am. While I get to work on solving that mystery, I’ll appreciate the beauty of the midwinter solstice, the respite from the daily grind, and the abundance of my loving, friendly and generous Universe.

With love,