Frosted windowpanes
Dec. 16th, 2007 04:39 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sinkwriterIt's that time of year...
Everyone's in a hurry; there's so much to accomplish in time for the holidays, no matter what you celebrate. Presents to purchase, decorations to hang, parties to organize, traveling to do. It's a whirlwind of frenzied activity.
In direct contrast to that harried atmosphere, I stand watching, even marveling, as tiny graceful snowflakes float and fall outside my window tonight. Then I am reminded... it's also a time when I find myself feeling romantic and nostalgic.
One of my favorite memories of Christmas childhood is the day when we'd get together as a family to put up the tree. It was a fake tree, because using the same tree was less expensive than buying a new fresh tree every year, but even though my mom bemoaned the lack of pine scent, I didn't mind. That wasn't what mattered to me. What was most special was the decorating. Cheesy and holiday-card-ish though it may sound, every year without fail, this was something we all did together.
First, my dad would string on the lights. We'd try to help him, truly we would, but we were little and bored and impatient. (Hell, even when we were teenagers, this was the part of the evening when we were bored and impatient.) Ultimately he'd get so frustrated with the tangled mess (and with our incessant teasing) that he'd kick us out of the living room. And we'd go... "laughing all the way."
(Name that tune!)
*ahem* Sorry, Dad.
Once the cursing coming from the living room had ceased (hee) and the lights were on the tree, my sister stepped in. She was the garland-layer. Again, we all tried to help, but she was so particular about how it was placed that we'd usually sit back and let her go to it. Evenly spaced, orderly waves of silver and gold fluff artfully set by her careful hands. I admired her determination and skill because -- to be honest -- I hated putting on the garland; it bored the crap out of me. I had no patience for it. (Which is probably why I don't bother to put it on my own tree.)
Finally, the lights were strung and the garland was set, which meant it was time for all hands on deck. One of the best parts.
As jolly, bouncy Christmas music played, we would each open boxes, pick out ornaments, and place them on the tree. Sure, okay, my sister and brother and I weren't perfect angels -- sometimes we would argue over who would get to put up the 'best' ornaments, the cherished ones everyone adored the most. But to this day sometimes all I have to do is look upon my parents' tree and spy one of those ornaments, and a feeling of such love and reminiscence fills me.
My favorites are still the puffy felt ornaments my mom sewed with her own two hands, way back when: the ice skater, the Christmas tree, the stocking, the drum, and especially the snowman. Or, the musical mice! These are old, old ornaments. I don't know where my parents got them, but they're adorable and yes, they were the ones we fought over the most. Made of I'm not even sure what material -- plastic? ceramic? -- they had glittery white bodies and bright happy eyes, and they each held a different musical instrument: guitar, saxophone, drums, and... I always forget the last poor little guy... French horn, maybe? Unfortunately, at least two of the four are so over-handled that the little attachment through which the gold thread hangs the ornament from the tree has long since broken off, so now we… er… well, we have to tie ribbon around the mouse's neck and hang him from the tree that way. Yes, it's kind of morbid, but come on! We can't give up those special ornaments! They're so cuuuute, and they have a long, treasured history in our family holidays.
Somehow, in this moment, during this particular evening, the impatience and rush of the season would slow down and slide away. We wouldn't even necessarily feel the need to talk. We'd just listen to the holiday music and concentrate on our task, quietly putting up each ornament until my mom declared that was enough; there was no room left.
Then came the moment I loved the most. My dad would turn down the Christmas music to a soft murmur of sweetness, and my mom would turn off all the lamps. And we would just stand there, as a family, enjoying the music, looking at the tree and basking in the hazy glow of its twinkling, colored lights. Sometimes -- if we were really good -- Mom would make us hot chocolate, the kind with real cocoa and warm milk that you stir on the stove, and we'd sip it as we gazed at the tree. It was a wonderful way to spend the evening, and I admit, I was probably the last one to go to bed each year on that night because I just didn't want that feeling to ever end.
...
Excuse me... I think I have something in my eye.
...
*smiling warmly*
We haven't had a night like that as a family in years, mainly because eventually that beautiful moment does have to end. The clock turns midnight, the lights have to be turned off, and we all have to go to bed. Things can't stay the same forever. Kids grow up, go to college, move out of the house, and build lives for themselves and memories of their own. My sister and brother are both married, one with two kids and the other with his first child about to be born any day now, and given those kinds of responsibilities, the best we can do these days is see each other when we can. But that doesn't mean I can't fondly remember the nights when we were able to come together and decorate a tree. I miss that. And try as I might, when I play holiday music and sing along with it as I adorn my own tree, it just isn't the same.
I know it's silly, but it's this time of year when I find myself actually wishing for a man in my life. Don’t get me wrong... I am a fabulously independent, intelligent woman who enjoys having time to herself, even savors being able to do (for the most part) as I please -- I can read while I have dinner, I can stay up until two in the morning watching movies or listening to music, I can be impromptu and go for a walk in the woods or meet delightful friends for brunch, I can choose to stay in my pajamas all day on a weekend and dance around my living room. Even with a man in my life, there'd be absolutely no reason why I still couldn't do all of those things.
But this is a special time, one that means a lot to me, and clearly, I am a sentimental kind of gal. Independent though I may be, I want to share the holidays and create gorgeous, fun memories of my own with someone who loves me. I do want that. Most especially, I want a sexy, smart, kind-hearted man who makes me laugh, and I want him to playfully meet me under the mistletoe.
;D
Until that day comes (and I do believe it will)… I stand strong, contentedly watching the snow, and I savor the view.
Sweet dreams, and happy holidays to all.
Everyone's in a hurry; there's so much to accomplish in time for the holidays, no matter what you celebrate. Presents to purchase, decorations to hang, parties to organize, traveling to do. It's a whirlwind of frenzied activity.
In direct contrast to that harried atmosphere, I stand watching, even marveling, as tiny graceful snowflakes float and fall outside my window tonight. Then I am reminded... it's also a time when I find myself feeling romantic and nostalgic.
One of my favorite memories of Christmas childhood is the day when we'd get together as a family to put up the tree. It was a fake tree, because using the same tree was less expensive than buying a new fresh tree every year, but even though my mom bemoaned the lack of pine scent, I didn't mind. That wasn't what mattered to me. What was most special was the decorating. Cheesy and holiday-card-ish though it may sound, every year without fail, this was something we all did together.
First, my dad would string on the lights. We'd try to help him, truly we would, but we were little and bored and impatient. (Hell, even when we were teenagers, this was the part of the evening when we were bored and impatient.) Ultimately he'd get so frustrated with the tangled mess (and with our incessant teasing) that he'd kick us out of the living room. And we'd go... "laughing all the way."
(Name that tune!)
*ahem* Sorry, Dad.
Once the cursing coming from the living room had ceased (hee) and the lights were on the tree, my sister stepped in. She was the garland-layer. Again, we all tried to help, but she was so particular about how it was placed that we'd usually sit back and let her go to it. Evenly spaced, orderly waves of silver and gold fluff artfully set by her careful hands. I admired her determination and skill because -- to be honest -- I hated putting on the garland; it bored the crap out of me. I had no patience for it. (Which is probably why I don't bother to put it on my own tree.)
Finally, the lights were strung and the garland was set, which meant it was time for all hands on deck. One of the best parts.
As jolly, bouncy Christmas music played, we would each open boxes, pick out ornaments, and place them on the tree. Sure, okay, my sister and brother and I weren't perfect angels -- sometimes we would argue over who would get to put up the 'best' ornaments, the cherished ones everyone adored the most. But to this day sometimes all I have to do is look upon my parents' tree and spy one of those ornaments, and a feeling of such love and reminiscence fills me.
My favorites are still the puffy felt ornaments my mom sewed with her own two hands, way back when: the ice skater, the Christmas tree, the stocking, the drum, and especially the snowman. Or, the musical mice! These are old, old ornaments. I don't know where my parents got them, but they're adorable and yes, they were the ones we fought over the most. Made of I'm not even sure what material -- plastic? ceramic? -- they had glittery white bodies and bright happy eyes, and they each held a different musical instrument: guitar, saxophone, drums, and... I always forget the last poor little guy... French horn, maybe? Unfortunately, at least two of the four are so over-handled that the little attachment through which the gold thread hangs the ornament from the tree has long since broken off, so now we… er… well, we have to tie ribbon around the mouse's neck and hang him from the tree that way. Yes, it's kind of morbid, but come on! We can't give up those special ornaments! They're so cuuuute, and they have a long, treasured history in our family holidays.
Somehow, in this moment, during this particular evening, the impatience and rush of the season would slow down and slide away. We wouldn't even necessarily feel the need to talk. We'd just listen to the holiday music and concentrate on our task, quietly putting up each ornament until my mom declared that was enough; there was no room left.
Then came the moment I loved the most. My dad would turn down the Christmas music to a soft murmur of sweetness, and my mom would turn off all the lamps. And we would just stand there, as a family, enjoying the music, looking at the tree and basking in the hazy glow of its twinkling, colored lights. Sometimes -- if we were really good -- Mom would make us hot chocolate, the kind with real cocoa and warm milk that you stir on the stove, and we'd sip it as we gazed at the tree. It was a wonderful way to spend the evening, and I admit, I was probably the last one to go to bed each year on that night because I just didn't want that feeling to ever end.
...
Excuse me... I think I have something in my eye.
...
*smiling warmly*
We haven't had a night like that as a family in years, mainly because eventually that beautiful moment does have to end. The clock turns midnight, the lights have to be turned off, and we all have to go to bed. Things can't stay the same forever. Kids grow up, go to college, move out of the house, and build lives for themselves and memories of their own. My sister and brother are both married, one with two kids and the other with his first child about to be born any day now, and given those kinds of responsibilities, the best we can do these days is see each other when we can. But that doesn't mean I can't fondly remember the nights when we were able to come together and decorate a tree. I miss that. And try as I might, when I play holiday music and sing along with it as I adorn my own tree, it just isn't the same.
I know it's silly, but it's this time of year when I find myself actually wishing for a man in my life. Don’t get me wrong... I am a fabulously independent, intelligent woman who enjoys having time to herself, even savors being able to do (for the most part) as I please -- I can read while I have dinner, I can stay up until two in the morning watching movies or listening to music, I can be impromptu and go for a walk in the woods or meet delightful friends for brunch, I can choose to stay in my pajamas all day on a weekend and dance around my living room. Even with a man in my life, there'd be absolutely no reason why I still couldn't do all of those things.
But this is a special time, one that means a lot to me, and clearly, I am a sentimental kind of gal. Independent though I may be, I want to share the holidays and create gorgeous, fun memories of my own with someone who loves me. I do want that. Most especially, I want a sexy, smart, kind-hearted man who makes me laugh, and I want him to playfully meet me under the mistletoe.
;D
Until that day comes (and I do believe it will)… I stand strong, contentedly watching the snow, and I savor the view.
Sweet dreams, and happy holidays to all.
