writing for self-discovery

Well, we polished off Thanksgiving just in time for Christmas. Nonstop, aren’t they? The holidays…

The tree arrived from New Jersey making the trip up the 24 floors (I stand corrected, I thought it was 21) on Kellen’s back, to their penthouse apartment. We had spent several days prior determining which tiny space would be the best for a potentially tall but hopefully skinny, tree. Kellen ceremoniously secured it in it’s stand…PERFECTION!

The scent of evergreen permeated the air. Joy lit candles and turned on Christmas music. Let the festivities begin! Then she hauled out boxes, upon boxes, and more boxes of ornaments, each one lovingly wrapped in newspaper. As she disrobed them each had a story. Joy is the historian, the keeper of old photos and family relics, the sentimental promoter of tradition. She’s also the undisputed boss.

“Do you like to do lights, mom?” Joy asked in a voice that translated, “Your job is lights!” I don’t think I’ve ever NOT done the lights. It’s an art that I don’t entrust to anyone else. They have to be done right. And this year they have to be perfect because if they aren’t, Kellen will disassemble them and make them so! I know this about him! He is more OC, AR. and BS than I am! (No, I won’t decipher the acronyms!) And make no mistake, I love that about him!

So I did the lights and Kellen approved. Whew! Then, because he has height going for him and the right tools for the job, he was assigned the task of affixing the tree topper. He nailed it. Good job Kellen!

About this time empty boxes, scraps of newsprint, unused strands of lights, and miscellaneous snowmen and Santas were strewn haphazardly about. Joy brought out the wine. She has an instinct for these things. Her timing is impeccable!

It was a muscat, sweet and fruity, just like the company! Kellen tried to achieve the same beautiful reflection through his Miller-champagne-of-bottle-beers but the results were not photo worthy. About that time we were singing along with Mariah Carey’s Christmas album, attempting to stretch our alto voices to the impossible registers of coloratura soprano with only moderate success. Then, at some point, the elves arrived to spit-polish and clean up.

Joy loves her beautiful tree…

and I love my sweet middle child…

The holidays: we love them, we hate them, we eat and drink and make too much merry, but I wouldn’t trade this time in New York for anything. Merry Christmas!