My younger son, wise beyond his years, saw me striving to get a bunch of cards ready for the mail the other day. They weren’t the batch of New Year’s cards that we generally send — by late January. No, I was just scurrying to send out a handful of messages to about 1/100th of the people I’ve been missing, feeling the press of the clock, well aware of the deadline for getting them on their way on that particular afternoon.
He said simply, “Mom, why don’t you just chill?”
Although I wasn’t pulling my hair out, wasn’t even particular upset, he must have still sensed my stress. Something in him — fresh from finishing demanding coursework for the semester — craved ease, not just for himself but for his mother, too.
For him, there was an argument to be made for doing less, not more: to lighten up, in a way. Thinking along these lines, you could equate darkness with a burden, a weight you needn’t keep carrying all the time. You could put it down, feel more free.
Here we are on Christmas Eve, a few days after the Solstice, fully aware — especially this year — how eagerly we await a turning toward the light.
Generally, when cashiers at the grocery store conclude our transaction with something like, “Have a good night!” when it’s about 3 p.m., I feel the need to reply with something like, “Many hours to go before then!” It’s as if I’m trying to convince myself that we have plenty more time. But nowadays, when night really does start around 5 pm, the ink of darkness out there is so pervasive that any little glimmering of lights is a relief.
Maybe I’m imagining it, but this December, haven’t you noticed everyone’s Christmas decorations way more than usual? Since ours went up, I’ve gone past our driveway a few times, just to take in the glow.
I think having a long stretch of dreary weather — so much grey — in November into December made this craving all the more acute. I knew when we were smack in the middle of summer that we were being treated to an abundance of sunshine, but I knew it even more when it was a memory.
As my husband prepares for a full evening of services, in some combination of outdoor and virtual, I know that the contrast between light and dark will once again be prominent. Nature and Religion speak with one mind, it seems. Here’s a column that E. J. Dionne of The Washington Post just wrote on this exact topic: https://www.washingtonpost.com/opinions/this-christmas-were-turning-darkness-into-light/2020/12/22/fa5f932e-43d1-11eb-975c-d17b8815a66d_story.html
This morning, I glanced at our mantle, and found that it was good. A ray of sunshine fell on the left side of it, like a kind of spotlight. Last evening, we carried on a simple tradition: putting the last fully functioning ornaments on the tree and then also placing the few damaged ones, or ones with no loops for hanging, right on the mantle. They belonged, fully.
Then, looking over at the tree, I gazed upon a large paper yellow star, with glitter, that our first child had made back in pre-school. The same strand of thick green yarn had stayed with it, from the beginning. “That one’s my favorite,” Rob had said.
Funny thing, because when I’d been jotting all those quick notes, a week before, I’d been thinking that each time we connect with someone we love — in person, in a phone call, on paper — it feels something like looking at a twinkling star.