when he came over for dinner a few days ago he asked when we were going to take down the holiday decorations. “sheesh!” i said. “it’s barely over!”
truth of the matter is that i love the light and spirit of the holiday decorations. the intermingling of the everyday with the celebration of divine. even so, we will – soon – take down the Christmas tree, all the little trees, the ornaments. we may leave a few crystals up for a while. and, definitely, the happy lights stay. there is nothing wrong with keeping light and real-life intermingled.
pine branches on the trail always get my attention. there are sections of our trail that just have a glorious scent. those spots instantly take me back to a favorite hike in the colorado mountains – where we hike through a pine forest alongside a brook that meanders down the mountain. funny how scents do that.
it’s like any time there is the slightest bit of salt in the air i am back at the beach where i processed most of my teenage years, back in the sand where i walked winter, spring, summer, fall.
the rolling-around of the new year prompts much memory-exploring. i can’t help but think of holidays past, of decades of new years turning, of resolutions and wishes, of sadnesses and hopes for new, times of tucking away the holiday and times of leaving it all up longer than ever.
for right now, the snowy pine needles nudged me to keep it all up. for a few more days. intermingled. to stretch the magic it creates a little bit longer.
it would appear that nature is decorating for the holiday season. even in the browns and tans and greys of the fallow, color bursts out at us. it’s stunning. the honeysuckle is unmoved though – it is standard fare in the winter to be berried. we, however, stop to appreciate it.
we decorated early this year. right around thanksgiving we put up our eileen-tree (which we named “e.e.”), pulled out the mini-trees i love to place everywhere, added twinkling white lights and silver ornaments. there are snowflakes and pinecones from the forest floor and heartfilled nods to my children-in-younger-days and my scandinavian heritage. we unearthed the boxes of vintage glass ornaments and shiny brites from my sweet momma and poppo and placed those ever-so-gently on the happy-light-lit big branches we now have year-round in the living room. it looks like christmas.
each day goes by faster now it seems. and then it’s friday again. i’m not sure where the time goes. as we make our holiday cards and a few handmade gifts to send out, george winston’s december is on repeat – the quiet of this album is speaking to us this season. bombastic christmas or vocal-gymnastic-laden carols seem like too much noise. restraint seems more in line with our spirits. more serenity.
there are many festivities to choose from – out there. we thought about a concert or two and lingered back. we thought about a holiday festival or two and lingered back. we thought about stores and crowds and lingered back. we will finish making our cards and creations and do a bit of boutique shopping. we may make a cookie or two. the krumkake of ages past nudges us and sip and feast taunts us with a long island italian almond cookie (gluten-free). we sit under blankets in a darkened living room – lit only by happylights. we savor the sparkle. we sit in content silence, we tell stories of past holidays – wistful, tearing up, laughing, lost in memories and hopes for future holidays.
and there is the woods.
whenever we can, we take time out there. the forest reminds us of both the everpresence and the evanescence of it all. it reminds us of the passing of time, the changing of seasons, adjusting to harsh circumstances and it reminds us of the rejuvenation and renewal of spring. we know that beyond the cold and frozen, there will be warmth. it’s all fluid and some things – like transition – are certain. there is silent wisdom – of the ages – you can feel as you place your feet – emanating from the dirt of the trail.
it is no wonder that nature has already decorated – with quiet fervor and vivid color – for the holidays.
we have sat at this table countless times now. it’s the table at which duke and eileen sat for decades of their marriage, sipping coffee, listening to the radio, reading the paper. there have been infinite conversations at this table, much laughter, maybe even an argument or two. this table, clothed in worn, yet sturdy, has seen many meals and some good life.
two days ago i spent some significant time at this table with 20, duke and eileen’s son. we helped him when it was time to clean out their house; duke had moved on to a different dimension and eileen was moving into assisted living. he asked us to put the old table into big red and take it as a donation to one of the resale shops in town. we brought it to st. vincent de paul and they refused it. the guy at the furniture donation door said that it showed wear on the top and that it wasn’t acceptable under their guidelines. we didn’t have time to take it elsewhere so we left it in the back of big red, for a very long time, waiting for another day to donate it somewhere.
looking out onto our deck and backyard, our sunroom is one of our favorite rooms. we stood in the sunroom one day in the early pandemic and did some re-imagining. an old door horizontal on a couple horses spanned the length on the east side of the room and an antique drafting table was smack in the center looking out back. we moved the drafting table upstairs to the office. and stood there, pondering. we thought it might be nice to have a table in front of the window, perhaps one we could sit at with coffee or lunch. we went downstairs into the storage room looking for perhaps another old door, a surface we could use. we couldn’t find just what we wanted, so we thought that we might go look for a table somewhere. it was one of those forehead-smacking-moments when we remembered we had such a table in the back of big red. we unloaded it and the duke-and-eileen table had itself a new home.
we have written at this table. david has drawn cartoons and sketched sketches at this table. i have laid out, added font, finessed, colorized, photoshopped at this table. we have created at this table. it is the easel in our sunroom, a room we adore. amid happy lights, succulents and plants with names like KC, snakeinthegrass, leticia, ralph surround us. the gentle sound of a tiny fountain is soothing and the whir of the small wine-fridge-from-the-boy reminds us not to forget snack-time-happy-hour. we can see the birds at the feeder and know that magic is sunning on a rock in the pond. this table is happy and we are happy the secondhand store turned it away.
so on tuesday, 20 and i sat working on some things he needed to get done. a couple of times he said, “wow. we are sitting at the table duke and eileen sat at all those years…” yes. that’s how we feel each day.
the specific history of this table is a mystery, for we will never know the love expressed at this table, never know the decisions made at this table, never know the tears shed at this table. we just know that it has comforted us through this whole time of pandemic.
like duke and eileen, we have sipped coffee at it, listened to music, read news apps. we have had conversations and much laughter and have argued at this table. this table continues to wear, continues to age, continues to be a place of many meals, and continues to see some good life.
happy-lights. we surround ourselves with these. on the deck, on the headboard, strung on ficus trees, draping the shelf in the kitchen. there are still happy-lights at the littlehouse on island, touches that made it feel like home, tiny torches of happy.
it is astounding to us that through the dead of winter, their glimmer shining through the snows of the season, a rainy spring and a hot, hot summer these little minilights, plugged in and on 24/7, lasted over eight months on our front rail since we put them up in early december for the holiday season.
in true beaky-behavior, i am going to write this happy-light company a letter. because what person, what company, doesn’t need to hear something positive during a time of so much uncertainty.
$2.99 is marked on the box. because i know me, i know that we wouldn’t have purchased them until they were on 50% off sale. even at full price, i have to say, the twinkle of these lights outside as we pulled up in the dark, the twinkle of these lights in our dark sunroom or over the littlehouse sink, is a we-are-home reminder. it gently says to us that we are in a safe place, a place of love, a place we care about, a place of light.
perhaps this country needs to string up some happy lights. 2800 miles across the united states is 14,728,000 feet. our happy lights are 20′ of lighted joy, which means 736,400 strands of this very set. that would end up costing a tad bit over $2.2 million. but….on a 50% off sale we’re only talking $1.1 million. and wouldn’t that be an inexpensive (federal-government-spending-wise) message to all: you are home. you are safe. you are cared for. you are in a place of light. you are loved.
reverse threading 