The jingle-n-jangle of holiday bells used to set my nerves a jangling. Starting in November, my days and hours used to be filled with making lists of things that needed to be done. Shopping, cleaning, decorating, baking, throughout the whole month of December. The nervous race to holiday perfection had me moving non-stop.
I grew up learning how to prepare for parties and holiday entertaining. My father loved Christmas, and he put a lot of effort into holiday decorating, and indoor and outdoor lighting. He never went overboard, and everything was tastefully old-fashioned. My mother had taken a flower arranging course when she was young and newly married, so the holidays gave her many opportunities to create masterful centerpieces. She would use holly and evergreen branches from our gardens, and some store bought flowers and ribbons. My dad was the Christmas candy-maker. I was the baker of cookies, cakes, and bars. My mother was the pie specialist. My brother was the marinade expert, and grill master. My sister would help my mother with menu planning, and all the meats and other foods. We all cleaned together. The house sparkled from top to bottom. Everything was perfectly choreographed and timed, so that when guests arrived, we could talk and entertain. My dad or family friend would tend the bar.
After I got married everything changed. My husband was not trained to entertain. I don’t think his parents ever threw a party. My husband never cooked, nor decorated, or shopped for Christmas. Most everything fell into my lap. My husband was very good at cleaning, as long as I uncluttered everything first. He would help me in the kitchen with peeling, cutting, carving, slicing, etc. He always looked to me for direction. I’m sure that come December I turned into a royal nag for him. Nag, nag, nag. Eventually, the house got clean and decorated. By Christmas day we were both worn-out.
Slowly over time perfection fell by the wayside. As our parents aged our priorities had to shift. By the time my parents died, I had stopped caring. My mother died in November, and when Christmas arrived, we had a tree with lights, and no other decorations. Nothing had been baked.
Today is two years later. I’m beginning for the first time in a long time to feel guilty about my slipped standards. I’m beginning to take full stock of the situation at hand. I’m beginning to care again, though I no longer feel any desire to nag my husband. He was never taught to worry about what others thought, and I now see this as a blessing.
I know that when I begin to organize again, he will help me as he can, and I understand that I will have to be the initiator and director.
I’m slowly moving toward a mind shift. The tide has not yet turned. So, I’m sitting in my big easy chair with my feet up, and the softly shaded light of a floor lamp is behind me. My plans for the evening are to start reading Chapter Three of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. I’ve now read the first four books in this series. I will most likely have a small bowl of candy-cane ice cream to bring in a holiday reminder of the date.
movingforwardslowly 