12.26.23
Breathe In
Breath Out
Breath In…hold for 1..2..3
Breath Out…hold for 1..2..3
(Do this 3 times)
Now, what do you hear? Guineas squawking, the clothes dryer tumbling, hum of the ceiling fan
What do you smell? Fabric softener on my freshly washed blanket, wet dog
What do you feel? Cuddly softness of my blanket, slight chill in the air
What do you see? Clutter that needs sorting and organizing, dark green leaves of the magnolia tree against the white overcast sky
Feel better? More connected? Great, that’s just what I want for us all, especially this time of year. I meant this post to go out before Christmas, however, a week long illness that started Monday a week ago, had other plans for me. I felt mostly well by Christmas Day (yesterday) but then I had all this guilt for the things I didn’t get done in time and would most likely not be able to do. I was up at 5AM on Christmas Day making cinnamon rolls for some odd reason. It’s not like I have a crowd to please or anything. It’s just the two of us empty nesters, yet I still feel this urge to bring the Christmas magic. Is it just me? Is it a woman thing? This had me pondering all sorts of things yesterday. Where does this feeling come from?
Do We Bring the Magic?
Since I’ve been on a deep dive into my childhood and shimmers of memories are constantly bubbling up, yesterday they were overwhelming at times. I remembered the Christmas’ of my younger years after returning from Germany when I was 7 years old and Daddy would ask us to make a list of 3 things we wanted for Christmas. My list always included, “My Mommy”. I remember Daddy holding me as I cried that night when Santa couldn’t deliver that. I’m not sure why I seemed to miss her the most this time of year, but I suspect it may have been because as women, we bring the magic. I never remember having any decorations or a tree those years when daddy was a single father and we lived in the single wide with the red shag carpet in the living room and red cloth on the floor in the kitchen. The Christmas tree and magic was at my aunt’s house where we all gathered. Her trees were always amazing! It was a huge live tree full of twinkling lights, ornaments, silver tinsel, and angel hair. Sitting mesmerized by it, I read Go Dog Go to my younger cousins for the umpteenth time. Her house smelled of cinnamon and baked goodies and the sounds of laughter and merry-making filled the air. Missing my mother, was really me missing the feminine touch that we bring to the holidays.
I remember when I became a mom, and thought I was creating the magic for my wee one with a fancy tree and lots of presents, only to feel empty and overwhelmed with all the stuff the day after. As women, somehow, the job of making Christmas wishes come true, falls to us. I don’t see men running around worrying over the perfect gift, or what goodies to make, or finding matching pajamas. Midlife has granted me a reprieve from all this, and has completely changed my perspective on the holidays. In a world full of too much stuff and consumerism, I’m not playing anymore. I still want the magic though. So I will string up the bubble lights that remind me of my husband’s mother because they were always on her tree, and I will hang a few ornaments in the trees in the yard for the birds to ponder. I will keep it sweet and simple. I will go foraging in the woods with the grand boys for things to decorate the fireplace mantle and kitchen sink window. I will burn beeswax candles on these long dark winter nights. I will gather with friends and family and offer homemade gifts of love (if I’m not sick). Mostly, I will NOT give myself a guilt trip for not being what everyone else wants me to be. I will just Be.
The BEST Christmas from Childhood
As I was walking in the rain yesterday morning and passed by the chickens, another memory leaked out. When you live in the same house you grew up in, they’ll do that. The year was 1984, I was 12 years old and my brother was 9 years old. This was the first year that we had celebrated the yuletide holiday since spending a couple of years in a fundamentalist church. We were up before the sun Christmas morn. Our presents were never wrapped. They were spread out in a little scene around the room. I don’t even remember what was there that year but I know it was sparse as it usually was. Grandpa was sitting at the dining table with Daddy drinking coffee while Granny washed dishes in the galley kitchen that overlooked the dining and living rooms.
Daddy had been in a festive mood this particular year. I never remember having a Christmas tree except when we were in Germany in 1978. But this year, me, daddy, and my younger brother loaded up in the blue ’67 Chevy truck that belonged to my Grandpa and drove out on the sand ridge looking for a spruce pine (Pinus glabra). A pine with a lovely shape, small needles and pine cones that thrived in the desert-like sand hills full of wiregrass, gopher tortoises and rattlesnakes. Exploring the woods with my daddy and little brother brought me so much joy as we looked for the perfectly shaped tree. The woods were my happy place, especially since earlier in the year we had moved to this farm my daddy was raised on. The 25-acre longleaf pine forest that was our backyard was the perfect place for day long explorations with my little brother, but to find smaller trees that would work as a Christmas tree, the sand ridge along the Ohoopee river, less than a mile away, was the place to look. This is where we found our perfect yule tree that year.
Under the glow of the lights on the tree, my brother was busy playing with whatever Santa had left for him when Daddy told him, “Run outside and grab me a screwdriver from the rat house.” He brushed past Granny and trotted out the back door to the storage building and back in again in a flash. He handed it to Daddy who then told him, “That’s a flat, find me a phillips head.” Off he went again, this time he came back in excited and sputtering, grabbing my hand saying, “Come see!” Out the back door we both went and there it was…a TRAMPOLINE! For the next few years, our adventures centered around this contraption that gave you the secret superpower of fighting gravity. We’d play rocket ship by both of us jumping, counting down, “3…2…1” and one of us would fold up cross legged, landing on our bum while the other blasted off even higher. There were lip syncing concerts with cousins under the flood lights from the back of the house. And during the summer, we would rig a water hose up in the magnolia in the back yard, push the trampoline under it, and jump from the lower limbs in a splash pretending we were in The Goonies until Daddy yelled at us to quit wasting water. When my husband and I returned to the farm to live full time back in 2016, we dragged the old trampoline frame out of the woods and used it to make a shade structure for the farm animals. Currently, it’s in use in the chicken yard. The joy from that square-shaped, blue trampoline purchased by my daddy at Western Auto for the best Christmas of our childhood, lives on every time I see one of our farm critters relaxing in the shade or hiding from the rain under it.
I hope you all enjoy your holidays and remember the magic is within you and it’s up to you to share it with others. Share your memories and stories with loved ones during this most reflective time of the year. If your old traditions aren’t working for you, don’t be afraid to start new ones. Give yourself grace and space to be genuine.
Just stay grounded.
See you soon,
B
I enjoyed these memories so much, Becki! I could see it through your eyes and feel the emotion. Thank you for sharing. I look forward to your next post.