I sit here writing on Christmas night in Lake Oswego, Oregon. We are visiting my husband’s family, enjoying love and laughter, and eating meal after beautifully crafted meal.
After two all-too-quiet Christmases, the usual things that go along with gathering feel unspeakably special this year – being in someone else’s decorated house, talking endlessly about meaningful topics and memories from the past, marveling at the culinary creations they continue to serve us, reading the Christmas story together, seeing lights sparkle on beautiful houses along the street, and wallowing in the love all around us.
As much as I’d like to go out in the fresh air and take a walk, I don’t want to miss a minute of togetherness; of seeing people’s smiling, unmasked faces; of soaking in every single second of family time that will come to an end in mere days.
These annual traditions we’ve all celebrated every year since birth feel so new and cherished. I’m soaking up the visuals, enjoying observing how kin we haven’t seen in years do life – the ornaments they choose, the stockings they hang, the table settings they use. I’m inhaling the rich aromas of garlic and rosemary emanating from potatoes and parsnips and prosciutto-wrapped onions and prime rib that weren’t prepared by me. I’m holding onto the moments of deep conversation and hugs that won’t happen again for perhaps many holidays to come. I’m overwhelmed by the kindness of our hostess in everything from the specialty cookies she’s lovingly baked to the hand-sewn potholders she gave us this morning.
Little ones have come along to take the places of our generation’s children, excitedly unwrapping presents and looking around for stashes of chocolate. We’ve looked on as they’ve run off to bed each night and then run back into the living room, “cuddle passes” in hand, to give one last hug to each of us around the room before willing themselves to sleep. I watch, a little teary-eyed, as our older son sits on the couch in the afternoons with his arm wrapped around his tiny cousin while watching Christmas movies. He even remarked last night before bedtime that he looks forward to having his own children. It’s just been so long since we’ve gathered together, that the feelings we’re feeling feel overwhelming.
To top it all off, as we’ve awaited the white Christmas in the forecast here, my husband checked the ferry cams on Orcas and San Juan to see quickly-falling snow and a white blanket covering all of the scenes. By the time you’re reading this in the morning, it may be quite a sight.
I hope that you are right in the middle of experiencing the filling of your love tank too. May the sparkle, the togetherness, and the meaning of Christmas sink deeply into your soul and propel you into the new year on a much-needed note of fullness and joy.
I thought I’d be writing about Give Orcas, and the organizations in town that we could all pitch in to help before the end of December, but upon checking their website, I see they’ve all been fully funded already! Way to go, islanders.
You can also find this on the December 26th Sun Days column on The Orcasonian here.
