Monday, December 28, 2009

Light

The sky grew dark and ominous as the sun sank towards the horizon. A stiff, arctic wind slammed the clouds into each other until the blackened sky threatened to dip into the earth and release a mixture of rain, sleet and snow on holiday travelers. Trees swayed in the distance and the cold of unlit fireplaces and unwelcome change descended into my soul. Christmas was officially over and family members were left farther behind with each passing mile.

And then the sunset appeared within dark and foreboding clouds, rimmed with fire, hanging heavy in the sky. Suddenly embers of red and orange scorched the grey until gradually, the clouds grew salmon and turned pink and lit the sky in cotton candy puffs. Soft pastels gave way to strips of baby boy blue upon which ribbons of melted gold streaked across the changing sky. Finally, darkness descended but I had been reminded that it was a forever Season of Light.

Hundreds of small lights twinkled on the solid white and unadorned Christmas tree at my father’s house. More lights netted shrubs, formed wreaths, reindeer and snowmen, and hung as icicles on houses. Yet, the real light was reflected in the glow of my father’s face when he sat at the head of the holiday dinner table surrounded by his children, spouses, and grandchildren. It was found in the sparkling eyes of the young awaiting Santa. It was felt in the warm embraces of family and friends. And it was renewed by looking up towards the heavens instead of looking down.

May 2010 bring all of us renewed hope, love, peace and joy. And if we grow weary and strength grows dim, let us look for the light with the open eyes of our hearts and allow it to guide our ways.

Sunday, December 20, 2009

More

In this supersize, upsize, upscale world in which we are immersed, holiday gift buying has morphed into quests for the biggest and best. And yet during this Season, I have already experienced that the best gifts come from the biggest hearts and in the shape of cobalt blue irises and time.

The rotund earthen planter was hand crafted and stood about 12 inches tall. A cool beige background formed the backdrop for a variety of flowing irises atop forest green stems and leaves. Soft, irregular scalloped curves formed the rim and I recalled in an instant the shopping trip with my mother where I first saw it, wanted it, and watched her carry it out the door. In fairness, she did ask if I planned on purchasing the extraordinary planter. But I declined so she became the owner.

My mother and I have an established tradition of annual visits in the heat of the summer with at least one day devoted to shopping favorite antique stores. I don’t know when this tradition began but I know that summer is not complete without the trip and our time together. Time is a chameleon with extraordinary power. He changes all things and heals people. He can stand still or fly. Time is counted in the tick of a family’s heirloom grandfather clock, displayed as digital numerals, or measured in grains of sand falling through the hourglass. But for all of Time’s miraculous powers and measurements, I never knew He had shape and could be wrapped for Christmas until I uncovered it under festive wrapping and shiny bows and spotted the vibrant cobalt blue irises gracing the beige surface.

As I stared again at the coveted planter, I knew I would always remember the time with my mother each summer; days filled with old traditions and new experiences and endless conversation. I would remember a selfless gift. I would remember a mother’s love.

I think of all the worry being spent on purchasing the latest gadget or spending the right amount of money and then again, I look at the planter. The simple shape and earthen texture grounds me in my knowledge that more is better and bigger when it comes in the shape of giving more time; sharing more love; and making more memories.

Sunday, December 13, 2009

Marshmallows

Earlier this week, I found myself staring into a bonfire roasting marshmallows. I don’t know when fancy metal skewers came along with two prongs perfectly formed for roasts and long enough to keep one out of harm's way. When I was a little girl, I would search the woods for a short stick. My father would take his pocketknife and whittle the end until the fine point would pierce not just one marshmallow but five or six. My marshmallows were never lightly toasted to a golden tan but blackened and charred and my beet red face almost singed from sticking my head too close to the fire. Even then, I would not be called patient.

I thought after 30 – 40 years without roasting marshmallows, I was ready for perfection. Standing patiently, I watched the sparks fly into the night sky and danced the metal skewer in and out of the flames. In the one second that I looked up to see a shower of sparks mingle with a falling star, my marshmallows burst into flames. I blew hard and again held the black, charred objects of my youth.

Someone stood ready with graham crackers and a chocolate bar to help me recall the gooey goodness of s’mores. I didn’t remember how to make them but after my first bite, I remembered the taste. I remembered childhood campfires and sing-a-longs. I remembered canoe rides and a young girl’s first kiss. Girl Scout badges, swimming lessons, rock and leaf collections swirled in my mind. The exuberance of youth, mixed with family love and security, warmed my heart along with the fire.

This Holiday Season may we open our eyes to the wonder of the moment and roast marshmallows until they burst into flames.

Sunday, December 6, 2009

The Big Tree

Last night I co-hosted a small holiday dinner party with a friend. Both of us abhor planning and schedules and commitments away from work and during the process, we mixed up the date, farmed out invitation distribution and food coordination, and delayed all responsibility until the big day.

My friend stopped on the way over and picked up cleaning supplies that I couldn’t locate. Then in southern girl style, we watched the SEC football championship while cleaning, cooking, and ironing. One hour before we expected our guests, we decided to purchase a Christmas tree. Some twenty-two minutes later, the tree was on top of the car, and we rushed home so I could take a shower. Of course, there was no time to decorate a 12 foot tree. It was the biggest, fattest, tallest tree to ever grace my home. In fact, it was the first tree in many years to usher in the Season.

Over the course of the next four hours, we lived and laughed under the branches of the big tree. Without adornment, it stood watch over our festivities. I never once thought that it should be decorated. In fact, I never once thought about anything that night that should be different. I enjoyed the evening with friends, who ventured out to share a common love, brought together by common interests and common bonds. I enjoyed the present time without thinking back about picking up a tree earlier so it could twinkle in the background or cleaning days ahead of time so we could relax that afternoon. Last night was as it was supposed to be with the right people coming together at the right time gazing in wonder at the big tree.

This morning when I got up, I confess that I did move the tree into a different corner. Beyond that, I sit in wonder in its presence. Only here for a small window of time, I almost hear it whispering, “Live in the day, have peace in this blessed moment, and remember why I am here.”

Kneeling down to pour water into the tree stand, I think that I just might not decorate it. Even the most beautiful angels, stars, and birds would change the tree. I close my eyes and inhaling the strong evergreen scent, I think of family and friends. I don’t need to plan on what my house and my tree should look like tomorrow. In this day and in this heart, I have all that I need without adding shiny adornment to the plain and simple truths of the Season.