First Holiday

The afternoon was quiet, the fire in the freestanding brick fireplace crackled, eagles soared out the bank of windows from a living room situated almost precariously on a hill overlooking the lake. 

The holiday meal at my parents house had been simple. Only a half dozen of us this year but we held to tradition and ate turkey breast and mashed potatoes, boxed stuffing, because that’s what we like, and jello. We say the jello is for the kids but it’s really a nod to tradition and my grandma who always made it, molded, with fruit and whipped topping. 

This was a different year, absent one, but we felt close and the chatter rose and fell, the youngest generation spilling over their plans and dreams and ideas. It was a pleasant day and we all enjoyed one another. 

Change has come in waves and ripples. This day the ripples were smooth and slow and almost imperceptible. There were only thoughts of what we had and the present fellowship of the day and what was missing and changed disappeared like a shadow when the sun comes out. 

The rest of the weekend held plenty of fun. Two hair appointments in an empty salon made for a fun mother daughter date. Bowling for a birthday in which we all took turns scoring poorly. Except Megan. She surprised us by being fairly good. We laughed and we should have taken pictures of each reaction for a fun montage. Ah well. Some of my best ideas come too late. 

Another day we decorated for Christmas together, fluffing tree branches, wrapping string upon string of lights. It’s a tedious ancient tree and it requires a specific procedure to assemble and light, but I can’t seem to part with it. Two years ago I cut the bottom pole shorter to fit my house better and finally this year I fixed it so it wasn’t wobbly. By some miracle all the strings of lights worked and the two unopened light boxes remain for next year’s potential Christmas decor emergency. We sang with Michael Bublé and reminisced at each time honored ornament. 

It so happened by a second unexpected miracle that all six of the kids I claim as my own were available for dinner one evening so I threw together a table of cloth napkins, goblets and centerpiece, a simple Amish chicken meal and we visited around a fancy table in our loungewear. There was laughter and fun and compliments to the cook and they stayed at the table far past the clean plates. 

This is family. Changing and growing. Adjusting and thriving. 

It was the first year my expectations for these moments were met. The weekend left me feeling supremely content. 

My home is now festive with twinkles and trees and the sounds of the returned basement occupant’s bass booming or the occasional victorious gaming shout fill the house with life. 

Our first holiday separated is a memory and soon everyone will be home for Christmas.