The weeks fly by as swiftly as Santa's reindeer, coursing through the night sky. It's always that way; December's a spangled, sparkling whoosh. With a three-year-old, the whole month feels like a confetti shower of raindrops and cookies and elves and stars and fake snowflakes. Magic. Every morning she woke up and ran to put a new ornament on the advent tree. Every night I read her to sleep with Christmas books. The Night Before Christmas. The Snowy Day. Santa's Workshop. The Christmas Magic. It's astonishing how well I remember some of the specific illustrations from my own childhood, which makes me think they were special to me, even then. Oh, Christmas. You make me remember things, places and people that are gone or far away, things that I wished for and got or didn't get, days that I missed almost before they were even over. The cold, clear Sunday afternoons when I skated on the ice at Keystone Park for hours and hours, and walked home in the dark under the big, bare trees, the air filled with the smell of smoke and ice and wet wool and powdered hot chocolate, my skate blades hitting my back as I walked. I remember riding the Empire Builder through the snowy mountains of western Montana and across the plains of North Dakota to Chicago, reading The Brothers Karamazov, my embroidered pillow against the window and embroidered boots tucked under my seat. I remember midnight mass at St. Luke's, singing with Mrs. Miller in the choir, and the parties afterward at the Millers', how everyone in town would come, how delirious with fatigue I would be, and how beautiful it was to drive through River Forest late at night, looking at the lights. I remember my dad burning frankincense and myrrh in a little log cabin incense holder, and the winter sunsets at the house, and our Christmas Eve parties, and my cousins and aunts and uncles coming over. I remember sleeping under the Christmas tree with Andy twenty years ago, in the huge, old house he lived in in Davenport, Iowa, and when he said, "This is my dream." I'm glad I remember some things, though they make me cry. I've forgotten so much.
I wish you a merry Christmas, filled with good memories and peace and love, and gentle moments, and children, and small gifts that feel big, and friends and family and warm animals curled on your feet, and I thank you for all of your many, many sweet words and the kindest generosities you share here throughout the year, and these many years. Your kindness and attention has given me more than I can ever say. I wish you good tidings, and great joy, and, most of all, peace during this season. Peace be with you, dear friends. May we have peace in this world.
With love always,
Alicia, Andy, Amelia, Clover Meadow, and the Lady Bee.
XOXOX
(P.S. I'll tell you all about the appetizers I made for the party sometime soon! Thank you again for the suggestions — it was awesome! :)
