A Quiet Christmas
It has been a quiet Christmas for us this year. In Seattle our winter breaks were filled with friends and families, Jon creating steaming fragrant curries in the kitchen which we would eat with friends in front of our fire. We would share our Christmas eve dinner with Jon’s brother and family and on Christmas Day join the big family gathering at Jon’s sister’s home, where at least 19 of us would squeeze around the table and her two large dogs would watch us wistfully through the glass paned doors. We would leave late at night with a small mountain of gifts for the girls and then all return the next day to eat left-overs of cioppino and turkey. Occasionally, the weather would deliver snow in the city over winter break, sometimes in time for Christmas, causing travel chaos and childhood bliss. Over the past couple of weeks each of us has wistfully cradled these fond memories.
This year the four of us have huddled together in our little home. There have been moments of silence; each of us quietly engrossed in a book, work, or a creative endeavour. We shared an intimate Christmas afternoon and evening with my parents’ playing games and feasting. We’ve played board games, taken muddy walks across the fields and through the woods in heavy drizzle, made thickly scented candles and far too many gingerbread cookies. L’s projects are strewn across The Barn, a pile of wool roving for her needle felting on her bedroom floor, watercolours and brusho on the kitchen table and an assortment of jewelry-making supplies and a sewing project on the long living room table. I love having more than one table. An eclectic mix of music, from the traditional King’s College carols to bad British Christmas pop songs, has played throughout. On Christmas Eve we started work on our holiday puzzle, a 1000-piece mountain scene that reminds me of our backpacking adventures in the Cascades. I was apprehensive about Christmas eve. Would it feel too average with just the four of us? Yet it was perfect, as we worked on the puzzle, sorting pieces, fitting them together, George Michael playing and the fire throwing out waves of heat.
This morning though, they complained about being bored. For a long moment I panicked and wondered if I should have planned an outing to a swimming pool or invited a school friend to play. I was puzzled though since recently they have asked for time for themselves, time free from planned activities, time to play. Our quiet winter break has provided many hours of freedom. It has given them time to unite once again over Lego house building, silly cookie decorating and shared misery over another walk in the rain. There has been plenty of bickering too. So, I waited, and the boredom evaporated. L tidied her room (amazing) and A pulled on boots, raincoat and rain pants, packed a backpack with a flashlight, knife, water bottle and snack and disappeared into the rainy garden.
