When I look out into my back pasture right now, I struggle to see anything that is particularly beautiful. The landscape is dormant and basically monochromatic. The days have been gray and devoid of the sunlight that I desperately crave. I think the weatherman reported that we have seen only three sunny days since Thanksgiving. ACK!
This is the landscape that ushered in the holidays. A bunch of blah. Add to this the fact that everything I have ever really know to be “the holidays” has changed. Of course it has changed. My family has changed over the years.
That family in the grainy old photos has grown up. I’ve been through a parade of Christmas photo hairstyles. The 80s were particularly poofy.
My grandparents, parents, and oldest sister are gone now. Spouses joined the family, then some left. My nieces and nephews grew up to form families of their own. Adorable great nephews and an angelic little great niece entered the picture to breathe new life into the wonder-of-Christmas years.
But for me…well…every Christmas is still compared to the old family routine. For a good portion of my life, Christmas was blissfully predictable. There was a big dinner with extended family at Mom and Dad’s house on Christmas Eve. Then it was a Christmas morning of fun, laughter, excess, and time spent together. It was day of jolly elfin magic and early morning gifts followed by a brunch featuring all of our favorite, decadent breakfast foods (so much bacon, so very much bacon). Kids snacked on surgery treats from stockings while adults likely enjoyed some spiked beverages that somehow made it into the breakfast category (you add tomato juice or orange juice and voila!).
And it happened like that every year. For years and years. The routine held steady. And then, bam! It all changed.
Now, I’m not turning into a pouting child here, well, ok, maybe I am. I have a tad bit of trouble with change. But I have really been working on going with the flow. Creating new traditions. Finding my own special in the most special of holidays. I’ve also really started celebrating the heck out of Halloween. I’m all about the holiday that allows…nay, requires you to dress up as someone else.
But I digress.
Christmas is still about family, and celebrating together. It is. The routine has just changed. It just all looks different now. And I have to embrace different.
Last year, I embraced it by hiring a company to cover our house in lights. It was the first Christmas without my dad and the third without my mom. I needed some holiday sparkle and magic. It was nice. The house looked wonderful and welcomed me home every night. My spirits were lifted.
And it was expensive.
This year, we decided that hiring the lighting guys again was a bit like mixing money in with the hay we throw to the donkeys. We’ll do our own lights, we said. We’ll light the place right up. I had my doubts. The holidays tend to sneak up on us.
We’re often the people at the Christmas tree lot at the eleventh hour. Jim actually prefers to do his shopping on the day before Christmas. Every year we say we’re going to get cards out…and…well…did you get yours? No? Hmm.
So it was shaping up to be a pouting kind of Christmas. I was trying to get in the spirit, but the spirit was apparently flying around someone else’s house and skipping right over me. Bah humbug.
And then it happened. My little Christmas miracle.
I came home one night to my dark, decidedly un-Christmassy house. Bah. I unlocked the door and stepped into my living room where there was no sparkly festive tree. Hum. I looked out the back window and…hey, wait. Way out there in the pitch black version of the photo above (here, another copy so you don’t have to go all scroll crazy…now picture it all dark), was a little, blue, glowing tree. Bug, stand down! Stand down! I believe we have some Christmas happening out there!
Yes, somehow, way out in the middle of a pasture, where there is no electricity, there was a solo, tiny, perfect tree glowing blue. I am fairly sure that my horses and donkeys did not pull off this Christmas magic. Jim feigned ignorance, and though the hogs are pretty clever, I’m still betting that the only other human who lives out here deserves the holiday high five for turning my frown upside down.
Of course I’m kind of anticipating the day when the lights end up wrapped around a very disgruntled mule, but for now, every evening, as night turns out the lights, I know I can search the pasture to find my perfect little tree shining away.
If this were the perfect Christmas story, I would go on to tell you that the little pasture tree inspired the most profound, heartfelt, joyous Christmas in the history of Nancy, but that would be a tad too Norman Rockwellesque for us.
Jim did put lights on the house and trimmed some trees in the front yard. I put my glowing pig on the front porch (because nothing says holidays like a glowing pig), and did manage to decorate a tree. Then Jim and I both got the real-deal flu. Not the “gee, I kind of feel like I have the flu” flu. THAT IS NOT THE FLU. The real flu makes itself VERY known. There’s no “kind of” about it.
So on the scale of Christmases that take tradition and tuck it in bed with Tamiflu and unlimited Sprite on the side, this one was an imperfect 10.
And still, my Christmas was special. Every single time I looked out into the night, I was reminded that even the most seemingly imperfect Christmas was perfect in its own way. Yes Nancy, there is a Santa Claus. He looks a lot like a pale, coughing Jim.
I’m keeping my little magic blue tree shining in the pasture until next December, at which point I am officially calling do-overs for Christmas. Seriously. Watch for that card in the mail. If I start now…
Oh and if I forgot to say it, Merry Christmas. I know I’m late, but feel free to apply it to the 2015 Christmas. Help a gal out. Put me way ahead of the merry game. Thanks. And, hey, Happy New Year, while we’re at it.