Visions of Sugar Plums

Saturday, December 20, 2008

The Internet tells us of a huge cold weather front sweeping through the States, covering roadways in ice, plunging temperatures into the below-zero range, and creating winter wonderlands of snow. It is hard to imagine frozen toes and cold air gripping the lungs here. Today the sun was strong and hot, the occasional breeze welcome.

As the holidays approach, I have been struggling with creeping feelings of homesickness. They tend to sneak up during periods of downtime, when my defenses are down and my hands have stopped moving. This is the weekend my family is getting together on my parents farm, sledding, drinking hot chocolate and eggnog, singing carols at Grandma’s house, and snuggling by the tree. Our family maintains so many traditions of the season, that Christmas memories are almost tangible when I think of them. I close my eyes and see the twinkle of the lights on the Christmas tree, the silvery glow from the top of the piano where a miniature Christmas village nestles under angel-hair snow. I can hear mom’s favorite CD of Christmas music creating the background to conversation, laughter and teasing that goes on when the family all comes under one roof. I can smell the aromas of something delicious Dad creates in the kitchen. I can feel the total body warmth that comes from being in Grandma’s apartment, aglow with candles, simmering broccoli soup coloring the air with aroma.

All the little holiday rituals that our family has nurtured since Chris and I were children, so beloved, so anticipated awaken the senses to Christmas. When I think of broccoli cheese soup and ham and cheese sandwiches, I think of Grandma’s house on Christmas Eve. When I watch National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation, I’m put right back to late Christmas Eve night with my brother in his room laughing, wrapping presents and anticipating Christmas morning. We are faithful to these traditions: the menu, the tree, the ornaments hung, the village, the sledding followed by healing hot chocolate, the apple cider, the china and crystal family dinners, the caroling, the handholding because it not only is a way we can spend time together, but it defines the season. And all of these rituals become all the more important on a Christmas away from home. The memories I have are so vivid, so strong that they could have happened yesterday. Their colors, scents, tastes, feelings come alive in my minds eye after years of faithful nurturing.

So tonight, I sit on my bed and squint my eyes almost shut to look at the multicolored string of twinkly lights I have strung on the wall. The colors run together and send out halos of light; I could easily be in my parent’s living room doing the same thing with my nephew. Earlier, I took some paper, scissors and markers out to the common room in the guesthouse, met up with the French couple and their little boy Christanor. The little boy drew pictures (more like rendition of a Kansas tornado during the dry season) while I taught Silvy (the mom) how to make paper snowflakes. We must have spent hours making paper decorations for our rooms, the kind of decorations I haven't made since school, but that can bring familiar holiday trappings to any cement wall. Even the traditions of childhood come back when needed.

So tonight I celebrate tradition. I’ve always been an advocate for change, but some things are too perfect to vary far from the pattern. And because of years of well-practiced traditions during the holidays, I can revisit the Technicolor memories easily, take myself home in my thoughts, and although I miss the handholding, I participate in spirit because I know what it looks like, feels like, smells like, tastes like, sounds like. And tonight, that settles my loneliness. In a small way, I’m in communion with my family from across the miles. Merry Christmas.