Christmas is over. Well, not completely over. The day is over but the feeling lingers... For me, Christmas happens more fully once the day itself has passed. Once the pressure has lifted and the work is done. Then comes the real holiday -- a time to reflect and relax and enjoy the fruits of all the planning and hard work. If only we could do more of that ahead of the holiday so that the anticipation could be more joyful and holy and sweet. I have been working on that for a while now, and try to remember each year to savor the pre-Christmas as much as the post.
When the kids were little, I struggled so with this holiday which consists largely of mercantile madness. I felt so underneath all the lists and the self-imposed intensity and the need to buy for everyone the perfect gift.
The bitter irony is that we women have taken a beautiful time of year and turned it into a frenzy. We women created this insanity. I mean, really, do you see men freaking out about lists and home-made jam and what to buy nieces and nephews they never see and whose names they don't even remember? I confess that in years past, I secretly strove for a picture perfect Edwardian Christmas with the smell of delicious foods and mulled cider wafting through the house, my children dressed in lovely clothes, stringing garlands of popcorn and cranberries for the tree (we actually did that one year), delivering hand-made gifts to neighbors and friends (yes - we've made homemade marmalade and cookies), our gingerbread house made from scratch sitting proudly on the dining table (done it -- more than once). But, unlike the Edwardian days, we don't have servants to help, we work part- or full-time jobs and we are blinking exhausted from just the normal wear and tear of our lives. However, most women I know push Christmas and push it hard and we drive our men and everyone else crazy with it all.
What if we didn't do it? What if we just let it happen and unfold on its own?
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Thursday, December 10, 2009
The Last Day of School
I talked briefly with my daughter, Sarah, today. "I can't talk long, Mom," she explained. She was working away on her final paper and studying for exams, and making arrangements for graduation on Saturday. Just before we said goodbye she said, "Mom... this is my last day of my undergraduate education." I was stopped in my verbal tracks, took it in for a moment, and then felt hot tears welling in my eyes. "Wow," I said so very eloquently. And then my throat closed up and I started to cry - just a little, and silently - with the realization of how momentous this is. Her LAST DAY of school. We've been at this since Kindergarten and here it is her last day. I have written much about the first day of school, but never really thought about what the last day would feel like. This time tomorrow, she will be finished with classes and papers and books and deadlines and presentations and exams and homework. 17 years of school. I am so proud and so happy and so amazed that this moment has arrived. Wow.
What will it be like to have a child FINISHED with school? At least for now. (She plans to go on to graduate studies.) I imagine much the same in terms of finding out how things are going at work, trials and triumphs of life in the world, relationship ups and down. It will all continue. But, tonight, I am standing on a threshold, and when I step across that line, I will have one child out of school, independent of me, on her way to the adult world.
Julia had her last soccer game this week. Her last! She's been playing with this team since they were too small to fit into the shirts and we had to wash them in very hot water so that they would sort of fit. And now that they are 18, this is it. They are officially too old to play next year - not to mention that they will all be off to college. We all got a little misty at the end of the game. One last "Hey! Whose water bottle is this?" "Pick up your orange peels!" But largely missing was the "See you at practice." Or, "Have a great winter - see you next fall!" It felt final - but right. It's time. The girls are ready to be finished. But then again, not... you know how it goes.
What will it be like to have a child FINISHED with school? At least for now. (She plans to go on to graduate studies.) I imagine much the same in terms of finding out how things are going at work, trials and triumphs of life in the world, relationship ups and down. It will all continue. But, tonight, I am standing on a threshold, and when I step across that line, I will have one child out of school, independent of me, on her way to the adult world.
Julia had her last soccer game this week. Her last! She's been playing with this team since they were too small to fit into the shirts and we had to wash them in very hot water so that they would sort of fit. And now that they are 18, this is it. They are officially too old to play next year - not to mention that they will all be off to college. We all got a little misty at the end of the game. One last "Hey! Whose water bottle is this?" "Pick up your orange peels!" But largely missing was the "See you at practice." Or, "Have a great winter - see you next fall!" It felt final - but right. It's time. The girls are ready to be finished. But then again, not... you know how it goes.
We are all walking through this door together. Our family is growing up.
Wow.
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Thanksgiving Sunrise and Rutabagas
Thanksgiving has come and gone. Again. Our second since moving out of the house and on board our sailboat.
One of the challenges of moving onto the boat was how to do the holidays. Our oven doesn't hold the usual 20 lb turkey and I'm not ready to "just get a small turkey breast" as my mother suggested. Someday, yes, someday. But not yet. Last year we borrowed a friend's beach cabin on Anderson Island and went there with my sister and her new Brazilian husband. Sarah was in France so it was Dan, Julia and I. It was nice, yes, but it felt really odd to me. Not my house, not my stuff, nothing familiar, nothing that felt ritualistic. My sister was happy because she was back in the states after nearly 3 years in Brazil. And she had spent quite a bit of time at this cabin in years past and had many memories of happy gatherings. So for her it was a homecoming of sorts - but for me it was baffling. I missed Sarah and kept tripping over myself trying not to run the show, as I am wont to do, or complain, as I am also known to do on occasion... C'mon, Irene - positive attitude! It's not the place, it's not even the food, it's the gathering, the people, the attitude of gratitude.
Our tradition for over 20 years was that Dan would wake early, make the stuffing, stuff the turkey and put it in the oven. At some point, one or both girls would wake and make their way down to the kitchen to keep him company and comfort the poor turkey who Dan would make dance and talk back to them as they assured him that it was okay that we were eating him today. They called it "turkey psychology" and they did it every Thanksgiving. At least that's what they told me because I wasn't there. Thanksgiving morning was my turn to sleep late - a well-earned sleep - my reward for nights on end cooking cranberry sauce, rutabaga, pies, extra stuffing... after shopping and cleaning and inviting and planning. I would wake up to the smell of turkey just starting to brown, smile, roll over, and go back to sleep until it was seared to perfection.
One of the challenges of moving onto the boat was how to do the holidays. Our oven doesn't hold the usual 20 lb turkey and I'm not ready to "just get a small turkey breast" as my mother suggested. Someday, yes, someday. But not yet. Last year we borrowed a friend's beach cabin on Anderson Island and went there with my sister and her new Brazilian husband. Sarah was in France so it was Dan, Julia and I. It was nice, yes, but it felt really odd to me. Not my house, not my stuff, nothing familiar, nothing that felt ritualistic. My sister was happy because she was back in the states after nearly 3 years in Brazil. And she had spent quite a bit of time at this cabin in years past and had many memories of happy gatherings. So for her it was a homecoming of sorts - but for me it was baffling. I missed Sarah and kept tripping over myself trying not to run the show, as I am wont to do, or complain, as I am also known to do on occasion... C'mon, Irene - positive attitude! It's not the place, it's not even the food, it's the gathering, the people, the attitude of gratitude.
Our tradition for over 20 years was that Dan would wake early, make the stuffing, stuff the turkey and put it in the oven. At some point, one or both girls would wake and make their way down to the kitchen to keep him company and comfort the poor turkey who Dan would make dance and talk back to them as they assured him that it was okay that we were eating him today. They called it "turkey psychology" and they did it every Thanksgiving. At least that's what they told me because I wasn't there. Thanksgiving morning was my turn to sleep late - a well-earned sleep - my reward for nights on end cooking cranberry sauce, rutabaga, pies, extra stuffing... after shopping and cleaning and inviting and planning. I would wake up to the smell of turkey just starting to brown, smile, roll over, and go back to sleep until it was seared to perfection.
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