A Quiet Christmas

Here it is Boxing Day.  The turkey leftovers are stowed in the fridge; the stock is made for soup; there is a lot of leftover stuffing and gravy, and there are way too many sweet things in the house. When I was young the Christmases were huge, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins in the large house that had a staircase at each end so we kids could run up one stair across the upper floor and down the other stair shrieking and laughing.  I'm sure we drove the adults crazy.

In my late teens and early twenties we were adopted by my aunt's family and it wasn't unusual to have twenty or twenty five people for Christmas dinner. My uncle just kept extending the table with sheets of plywood. Some years we had skits and often we sang carols around the piano. For a couple of years we celebrated Christmas with Richard's sister and, again, there was a full house.

This year there were three of us. We made ragged music, stayed in our pj's as long as we wanted, watched old movies and laughed often and long. The size of the group has changed but the music and laughter remain as does the sense that this day is out of time, a day to set aside the regular routines, a day to pause, as the ancients did, and look forward to the return of the light which remains a few minutes longer each day. In the Christian tradition it is a time to celebrate hope, peace, joy and love qualities that our battered world sorely needs. As I prepare to pick up the regular routines once again it is with the sense that I have taken time to celebrate, reflect and rest so that each day I can take small steps to meet the returning light.