Christmas 2020.

 I have celebrated Christmas in many different ways and in many different places during my life.  From my childhood home or one of my grandparent's houses.  There were the Christmases in Virginia.  There were celebrations at Grandma Barb and Grandpa Bill's house, the house that would later become my home for many years.  There was even a Christmas that was spent in an airplane, flying across the country.  And now this year, I have a new home to celebrate in.  

For this, I am both excited and filled with such gratitude.  I love this house.  I love the people with who I share it.  I love the people who spend time with me here.  I also love thinking about future Christmases that will be celebrated right here.  

But do you want to know something that feels bad right now?  I know it's really insignificant in the whole scheme of things, but it is still a niggling pain that I can't quite shake. It's the lack of familiarity, the absence of all those silly little things that appeared every December when I opened up their storage boxes.  One of the only constants, regardless of my address, has been the motley assortment of holiday detritus that has accompanied me.  I'm somewhat surprised that I feel this loss so acutely.  

I was able to rescue a few items, albeit burnt, from the rubble.  The wise men from my nativity, as well as a donkey and a sheep, made it through the fire.  An old ceramic Christmas tree, no longer green, sits rather dejectedly on my hearth.  I can still see the love that went into creating this handmade treasure.   The stockings I made for the kids are no longer hanging.  But I've replaced them and added a few new ones to the mix.  That makes me really happy.  I can't play Christmas carols on my piano this year because, well, my piano is gone now.  So is the sheet music with the handwritten notes from my piano teacher. My kids' baby ornaments.  No more.   My favorite naked Santa ornament.  Also gone.  Christmas dinnerware.  The Santa shoes for candy canes.  The sleigh that Christmas cards are put in after we've all looked at them.  I guess it all had a good run for many years.

I am slowly replacing stuff.  And it is just stuff, I realize that.  There will be no more crappy lights for our tree.  I've purchased lots of (matching) new ones!  I bought gutter clips for the outside lights, which Jon put up for me (probably saving my leg bones from further duress), so our exterior illumination is now evenly spaced and consistent.  I've received decorations from family members and that absolutely makes my heart happy.  Those things will undoubtedly be special to me from here on out.  There are new ornaments on our tree and eventually, I hope to have a ridiculous representation of everyone I love on our tree.  Good things take time though.  

The things that cannot be destroyed are the traditions that we share, both old ones and new ones.  We spend a day cooking butter and sugar together to make the toffee that Jake has made for years. We cut a real tree, no fake ones for us!  We will drive around one evening very soon and look at all the Christmas lights.  I will play my Christmas records when I'm wrapping presents.  Everyone will unwrap new pajamas on Christmas Eve.  Cookies will be cut out with the same cookie cutters I used as a child.  Heavy metal Christmas CD's are added to our holiday playlist.  Christmas morning breakfast is now biscuits and gravy.   I can hardly wait to see where these new traditions take us.

New is good.  Old is good.  What we have going on here right now is really good.  There's just a little sting sometimes.  But honestly, that little bit of discomfort is, by contrast,  what makes the good stuff feel the best.