Some ornaments get special treatment - tender cocoons of paper toweling cradle these precious ones that are heavy with memory and oh so fragile. Each one got to sing its story again this Christmas, but one for the last time. Brittle with age, it fell apart in my hand, a half dozen sharp peaks of impossibly thin heirloom glass. Ah well, nothing lasts forever and the old give way to the new.
The tree lights, those tiny jewels that gave me so much peace and solace in the late evening after a long day, lie powerless yet perfectly coiled and bound into compact quarters. They will no doubt while away their time in the dark writhing themselves into a frantic tangle for me to resolve some eleven months from now.
All the other decorations of the season have also been returned to their resting places - all the knick-knacks and doodads, wreaths, garlands, and precious children's crafts, even the Christmas mugs and plates - all have been exiled to the attic or basement, away from the daily scene.
It feels a little empty, a little sad. My surroundings seem so ... blah.
And so the seeds of the January blahs begin to germinate. They were sewn in the razzle dazzle of December, the music and the memories, the stories and the smiles, the laughter, and the hospitality. Such exuberant merry-making was truly unsustainable.
Now, what?
A New Year has begun.
Mary Anne Radmacher urges me to:
“Live with intention.
Walk to the edge.
Listen Hard.
Practice wellness.
Play with abandon.
Laugh.
Choose with no regret.
Appreciate your friends.
Continue to learn.
Do what you love.
Live as if this is all there is.”
So let's mosey along through January, doing all we can, when we can, as gently as we can, for ourselves and others. The days are lengthening - a whole eleven minutes longer over the coming week - the light is returning.
©2017 April Hoeller
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