New Year’s Day

The days between Christmas and New Year’s are my favorite.

Gone are the endless cookies and the anticipation of Santa. The candles have burned down and no holiday napkins from the 500-ct. pack remain. The wrapping paper and scissors are back to their places in the closet. And now my personal holiday ritual begins.

I start and end each day next to the Christmas tree. Robbed of the presents beneath, it stands as a majestic reminder of everything that was ever celebrated in its presence.

Every ornament on that tree has a story. Five toy soldiers remain from the year my son performed as one in his kindergarten production of “The Nutcracker”. A handmade ornament from my husband’s second grade Christmas party still bears most of his name in gold glitter. A plastic lion, worn from the years since my dad’s childhood, safely perches on an inside branch.

All my yesterdays are on that tree. And in my quiet meditations with them, I feel their impact on who I am today.

I draw strength from the stillness of so many memories. The tree lights beckon a new year, but I can’t let go of the old ones. What memories will the tree will hold from 2016?

When I recall the year through the eyes of disappointment, death and despair, no ornament theme comes to mind. Yet a heart marking 35 years of marriage found a branch three weeks ago.

My eleven-year-old granddaughter (whose spy name is Valerie Raens) has grown five inches this year. That growth accelerated last week when she began orthodontics. One day she was chomping on apples and pizza. The next, she was guardedly selecting food based on how long it must sit in her mouth before she could swallow.

Life is like that, I wanted to tell her. Some days aren’t pleasant, but all of them have value.

We don’t often see their value before they become memories. Until then, we must meet each day with an open mind and use our hearts to appreciate each moment fully. The future always comes, but there is no guarantee we will be in it. Hope, despite what we thought when we were young, is in the present.

Any future becomes better by what we do with today.

The day after Christmas, my daughter woke Valerie Raens by singing, “On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me…a partridge in a pear tree.”

She repeated it until her daughter was awake. But when Valerie Raens began the second verse, her mother abruptly interrupted.

“Stop singing!”, she shouted, then laughed,

“You are messing with the fabric of time,” she added. “We don’t skip days”.

She is right. We don’t.

Happy New Year to you all. Go forward and make some memories!

Like me, all Elfiana really wanted was a cool, dark place to herself.

And then I realized all Elfiana really wanted was a cool, quiet place to herself.

I can tell the first night of a true norther by the hand-tuned chimes near my bedroom window. Most of the year, they are faint and fairy-like. But as cold fronts push winter our way, life quickens. The chimes become less background noise and more call-to-action, another reminder of why I don’t sleep in December. An entire month of excitement is just too much.

Another year has passed. Everywhere I look, I see things I have yet to finish. Three weeks of anticipation and dread loom before me. There are holiday parties and family gatherings to look forward to. Shopping trips to dread. And dozens of things I should have never agreed to.

I start every December morning with a cup of coffee, a quiet place and my journal. I reflect. I give thanks and give myself permission to just be. By bedtime, I am wishing for at least three more hours.

I climb into bed and pray for sleep. Instead, my brain begins its December litany: ruminations of things I forgot to do yesterday; phone calls I must make tomorrow and what I am going to cook for New Year’s Day.

I was in this stage of not sleeping last night when the chimes were whipped into a frenzy. The north wind blew so hard the gusts set off every motion-detecting light in the alley. I had just made peace with these distractions, when a neighbor’s trash can lid began flapping in the breeze. It sounded like an 8-year-old boy playing the bongos. I could focus on nothing else.

I crawled out of bed and stumbled like a zombie. through my backyard and into the cold alley. As I searched for the noise, I hoped my neighbors’ security cameras missed my appearance in a Mickey Mouse nightgown. I was sure that when I returned to bed my husband would be awake and concerned. He was not. But the warmth of the comforter overpowered my disappointment and within minutes, I was asleep.

This morning when I opened the refrigerator to get cream for my coffee, there was Elfiana (my granddaughter’s elf). Each December Elfiana is frantic with things to accomplish at night and ways to remain unseen by day. Today she looked just like I felt. She, too, must have spent the night looking for a cool and quiet place.

What keeps you awake at night? And if you’re sleeping through December, please tell me how you do it.

Silent Night: Goodbye memories. Hello unknown.

Chasing Sleep: Why I can’t chill in December