Who Was Happier to See Who?

Was it Heidi or Lucy?

Upon being reunited after a three-day separation, Heidi didn't whimper and jump for joy, but that smile was huge.

I'd say it was a draw.

And, fortunately? They will not be parted again for the foreseeable future.

Season of Darkness, Season of Light

A week or so ago I read an op/ed piece in the NYTimes that resonated with me. Entitled Want to Get into the Spirit of Christmas? Face the Darkness, the author Tish Harrison Warren, an Anglican priest, makes an eloquent case for using Advent as it was meant to be: a season to recognize the short days and long nights leading up to Christmas as an opportunity for contemplation and meditation of the darkness in our lives in order to prepare for the light that Christmas promises.

As she says, "Advent holds space for our grief, and it reminds us that all of us, in one way or another, are not only wounded by the evil in the world but are also wielders of it, contributing our own moments of unkindness or impatience or selfishness."

This year, the loss of my mother has sombered the season for me. The holidays have been both warm and sad, and the notion of Advent holding a space for my grief rings true. But, as Warren also points out, tradition provides twelve days of celebration following Christmas. This awareness also pleases me and fills the emptiness that torn wrapping paper, clearance sales, and early Valentines Day displays may hollow out.

And this morning when my brother and his family were heading back home, my nephew Treat said, "Another Christmas is over," in a sweet sorrow kind of a way.

But when I pointed out that, in some traditions, there were actually 9 more days of celebration left, he quickly adjusted.

"Well, then," he said, "I guess another Christmas has just begun."

The Spirits of Christmas

Ever since we were children, our Christmas dinner has been roast beef and gravy, mashed potatoes, Yorkshire pudding, and a green vegetable, a delicious, but somewhat time-consuming meal. In this year of change, we have each chosen to hold on to some of our traditions while setting others aside, perhaps until later, perhaps for good.

When it came time to cook our holiday meal, my brother wisely suggested a streamlined version of our old standard. Mild weather encouraged us to grill rib-eyes in place of the standing roast, and potatoes Anna replaced their mashed brethren. A tossed salad with shaved winter vegetables, arugula, and lemon vinaigrette completed the meal. Oh, and there was Yorkshire pudding, too.

The meal, while different, was delicious, and definitely captured the spirit of our Christmases past. Gathered around the huge dining room table, ten of us popped crackers and toasted both the year ending as well as the one ahead.

It wasn't as merry as some of our past holidays, but it was definitely a celebration, and there was a even flicker of more festive times to come.

Ride Share, Chapter 2

I didn't really feel like talking at 4:15 in the morning, but I didn't want to be rude to our Uber driver either, and so I asked if he had been busy this early Christmas morning.

"The holidays are always busy," he said, "but I work the overnights anyway."

"Do you have a day job, too?" I asked.

He confessed that he did not; he was in between jobs and taking some online courses, making ends meet by driving a ride share, and waiting for the next thing.

"Do you drive at night because it's more lucrative, then?" I wondered.

"It is," he answered, "but I'm a night owl, anyway, and since I'm usually up until 4 or 5, I prefer to work these hours."

"That makes sense," I said.

"For the most part I like it," he told me, "but you do have to have a pretty thick skin to deal with some of the characters you get at that time. You wouldn't believe some of the things that have happened!"

"You should write a book or do a podcast," I laughed.

"Maybe so," he mused. "But whenever I talk to other drivers, they always have to one up me with some of their crazy stories." He paused. "I guess I could have them as guests on my podcast, though."

I wondered if he was really considering it.

"I'll give you a little piece of it, if it goes well," he laughed.

"And I'll subscribe to your show," I told him. "You can call it the Uber Night Shift!"

Holiday Tidings

I finally finished my Christmas baking this morning, rolling out a small batch of rugelach and making some chocolate chip cookies for Heidi's mom. The 17-year-old double oven here is acting up a bit, and that made the tasks a bit more challenging: I had to figure what temperature to set it to to get the proper heat for my cookies. Even more formidable than that, though, was stirring rolling scooping  dipping cooling plating and cleaning up without chipping my nails! Fortunately, I was able to achieve it all.

And now on to the comfort and joy.

Hand Me Down

There was never a day that went by in the many that we spent with my mom at the Mayo Clinic that someone did not make a comment about her beautiful finger nails. They were indeed a point of pride for her, and she was scrupulous in their upkeep, even going so far as to follow her nail technician to several commercial spaces, the last at least 20 minutes away, for 20 years.

And I might have feared the worst, were I not so committed to hoping for the best, when, a few days before her surgery instead of getting her nails repaired after a run in with her ice maker, she opted instead to have them restored to their natural state instead, no color, no filler, no tips. "It's probably for the best," she said. "It will just be easier."

One of the things I remember most about my my grandma was her bright red nail polish; her nails, too were always impeccable, and I think that was one reason why my mom took such good care of her own. As for me, family legend has it that when I was 6, my mom left me and my brother and sister with my dad for a long weekend in Paris with a cousin and her mother-in-law. (As an airline family in the 60s, that kind of thing was wildly possible, but we kids were little, so this trip was a first of its kind.) When she returned, all was well, but I had developed an terrible nail-biting habit, one I wouldn't break for over 52 years.

In fact, it has only been since my mother passed away in October that I have stopped biting my nails. And so today, instead of just a holiday pedicure, I splurged on a manicure, too, and the color I chose? Was the brightest red I could find! Heidi says it looks shocking, but I really like it, because now my hands look like my grandma's hands, and a little like my mom's hands, too.

There's No Place Like Here for the Holidays

"This is the 20th Christmas I've spent with your family," I told Heidi this morning.

"I'm sorry," she said, and we both laughed, even though she was only half joking. The first Christmas Eve I spent here in Buffalo was the first Christmas Eve I had ever been away from my own family, and I shed a few tears after talking to them on the phone even though I knew I would see them the next day.

I didn't choose the arrangement; both of our families did our big holiday celebration on Christmas Eve, but it seemed more important to Heidi's mom to keep their tradition as it was. And so my side of the family switched their routine, and Heidi and I traveled early on Christmas morning from Buffalo to DC and then Atlanta to be there with them.

Despite all the driving and flying, I never minded the arrangement: we got two Christmases with the people we love most. Over the years, though, I secretly preferred spending Christmas Eve with Heidi's family, for even though I love them dearly, even after the holiday toasts were made and all the gifts were unwrapped, I always had my own mom and brother and sister to look forward to.\

More than anything else, these last months have taught me that the old ways cannot last forever. Everything ends and everything must change. Two Christmases with beloved family is a blessing that I've had for 20 years, and I'm only just now appreciating how wonderful it has been.