wrapped for the holidays, nature put her best curling ribbon on this stalk, replicating it all over the meadow for us to see and appreciate. clearly, giftwrappers and bauble experts everywhere must be jealous of the ease with which nature decorates herself – always minimalistic, always beautiful.
for a smidge of time, i was hired – long, long ago – as a holiday giftwrapper at a beall’s department store in florida. i spent shifts of hours wrapping the unwrappable – really one of the reasons why people have their gifts wrapped at the store. now, there are folks (having gifts wrapped) who just prefer to have everything done-and-done by the time they pull in their driveway, but most of the time it was the unwieldy that was brought to the service desk, the customer wide-eyed with wrapping trepidation.
i did my best, but i was no wrapping maven and had not yet learned any of the wizardry of the wrap. nevertheless, the customers seemed pleased, if only not to have to do-it-themselves.
in the years when our children were young – for reasons i still cannot figure out – we saved all the wrapping-of-presents (including stocking stuffers) for the night of christmas eve. there we were, in the middle of the dining room – having retrieved bags and boxes hidden all over the house – trying to quietly cut paper and wrap assorted gifts of all sizes and shapes – while our children were upstairs in their beds gazing out the window watching for signs of santa and his reindeer in the night sky. we’d leave christmas music on and close the swinging dining room door and the living room bifold doors into the hall, trying to disguise – or at least muffle – the clear sound of scissors meeting paper, hoping that the fact that it was quickly approaching the wee hours – like 2 or 3am or so – would mean they would have fallen fast asleep, dreaming of the next morning.
in later years – for the most part – i wrapped earlier, not saving it all for the elves-of-the-eve to desperately try and wrap as quietly as possible. though in later years the pressure of the magic was lessened, so quiet wasn’t quite as necessary.
in the latest years, we’ve had to ship presents. the boy and the girl who used to live upstairs live elsewhere and are not always home for christmas. it changes the landscape of the holiday. immensely. facetime never equals real time. and the holiday is quieter.
to say i miss those days of reports of reindeer and rudolph’s nose lighting the starry sky would be an understatement. to say i miss putting out carrots and milk and cookies would be an understatement. to say i miss twinkling lights reflecting on the faces of my children – as infants, as toddlers, as children, as teenagers, as young adults – would be an understatement. to say i miss the chaos after midnight on christmas eve would be an understatement.
but time marches on. and every year things change. i peruse social media – seeing multiple stockings waiting on the mantels of people far and wide, stacks of presents under trees, gatherings and family parties – and i silently send my children a wish of love and light and joy. we hike on treasured trails and pass by nature’s curling ribbon and i’m reminded over and over of the miles of curling ribbon i’ve curled, the stuffed stockings under our trees over the years, the small mountains of wrapped packages, giftwrap strewn across the floor.
and i am grateful. this holiday may be minimal in its festivity. but, sitting in the darkened living room with trees and branches and twinkling lights, holiday music or silence, cards to send out and presents to wrap on the dining room table – curling ribbon at the ready – it is no less beautiful. it is just different.
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read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY
a couple SMACK-DABs for the season:
reverse threading 