Merry Christmas! 

Merry Christmas!  Though we continue to sing about it annually, adding our own revelry and spirit along the way, we’ve almost forgotten, globally, that today – December 29th – marks the fifth of twelve days of Christmas. Historically, while celebrations continued throughout the 12 Days, it was the last day – January 5th and not December 25th – that was the largest, most triumphant day of the Christmas season.  I often find hope in that.  When Christmas Day itself doesn’t go as planned, be it family conflicts, sadness, or sickness, there are eleven more opportunities to revel in the spirit.  For me, this year was no exception and I found myself longing for the do-over that the next day brings.

When my family arrived home from church in the early hours of Christmas morn, we found that a water line had frozen and burst, pouring water into the dining room, creating a waterfall out of the chandelier and threatening, forebodingly, to bring down the entire ceiling, mouldings and all.  The wooden table already looked to be bubbling up under the element and the dining room chairs were wet.  Disaster of mere trifling proportions consumed Christmas Day, even before it was much underway.  Despite the desire, Christmas 2022 would not be ideal; a tough acknowledgement for a perfectionist, like yours truly.  Yet, somewhere, amidst the chaos, it occurred to me that the very first Christmas met with disarray, too, as a young mother prepared to give birth in a stable, far from her home and loved ones, threatened,  also,  by elements and the sudden bursts of pandemonium that life can bring.  Though it took a momentary meltdown to get there, there was peace in that.  Life, as we know, rarely goes as planned.

Consequently, Christmas dinner proved to be more like an epic picnic than a dinner, casual and, with no running water in sight, limited on utensils.  For the chefs among us – meaning, my sainted mother – food preparation also proved tricky.  With the chaos of plumbing and polar blasts, our tradition of Christmas crackers was almost entirely lost.  Ordinarily, each table setting has one; small, decorative paper tubes that snap when pulled, revealing, as a rule, an ordinarily cheesy joke, a small trinket, and a tissue paper crown. This year’s, as last, had small toys inside – a bouncy ball, a leaping frog, and plastic lips abounded – though the kids, and the middle fashionista especially, have not let me forget that crackers, like advent calendars, also come with jewelry and exorbitant makeup tucked inside. ‘Tis the season!

Like so many before, including the first, it was a day we’ll not soon forgot, with an overall sense, like, perhaps, that of the Virgin Mary’s donkey after the long trek to Bethlehem, of being rode hard and put up wet.  We are, though, in family fashion, fully intrepid and we carry on, though I can absolutely assure you, we will not risk the bad luck of taking down Christmas decorations either a second before or too long after Epiphany. January 6th will do us. Enough, after all, is enough, and we’ll look to 2023 to bring new tidings of its own, with a chance to start over and reinvent a new beginning in a brand new year and reassess ways to thrive in a new age.  After the last few years, after all, as the old adage goes, we should wake up and try, try again