Hitting my eightieth decade, I have begun to watch the distillation of my life. The holiday season from Halloween through the new year brings this out in a special way. I think back to Halloween, those many years ago, when flimsy, junky costumes were either bought at the store, or one made one’s own. My most challenging moment was when my twelve-year-old and her friend wanted to be Raggedy Ann and Andy. Today’s children do not even know who these story book characters are, but I became tasked with producing red wigs and appropriate clothing for the duo. Yet, I have to admit I went for store-bought candy when some houses were still handing out homemade treats.
This was followed by Thanksgiving, which involved food of course, but more importantly table decorations produced by artistic hands of various ages. They shone for effort more than reality, for there is nothing like a place card with two misshapen pumpkins and your name misspelled that says holiday in that special way. My contribution was making sure all the paper and various accoutrements to produce these masterpieces was at hand. There are now some people who have children of their own, who have not forgotten the year there was only one sheet of orange paper.
Then came the real production which was Christmas. Presents had to be chosen and bought, a Christmas letter produced and sent out, and a tree had to be bought and decorated as did the house. Special meals were cooked and no matter what was negotiated, Christmas morning came with bright faces, but at a very early hour.
I did it all and, even when pressed, loved being in the thick of it. Now I find I am relegated to the sidelines where I find I am very happy. Thanksgiving is cooked by others, Halloween passes by unnoticed as our neighborhood has not one child in it, and light Christmas decorations are all we need. What I am given in return is a wonderfully distilled version of the holidays. I have more time to think about what Christmas really celebrates, and to be profoundly grateful for all that I have. It is a very quiet, but a deeply reflective time of life.