It's been two years now since I've had what felt like a normal Christmas.
Last year Dan and I were en route to visit Max and Andrea in New Zealand. The plane delay in Phoenix caused a domino effect that turned an already 27-hour journey into a 3-day travel nightmare with airlines stowing us first in L.A. and then in Auckland on Christmas itself. When we finally arrived in Taranaki, our luggage was days behind us. I wore Andrea's biggest sweat pants until our suitcases caught up with us three days later.
This year...well, you know.
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A couple of weeks ago I toyed with the idea of hanging stockings for Dan and myself. But that would have required me to move the TV off the cedar chest to get to the stockings. And then to shop for do-dads neither of us needs. And then to fill the stockings. And then to feel slightly disappointed that Dan didn't appreciate my holiday effort.
So I skipped the stockings.
Tonight I asked Dan if he noticed we didn't have stockings.
"I did!" he laughed, "I was going to say something, but I didn't want you to think I was criticizing you."
(Smart guy. But still, the idea of planning/filling stockings himself is light-years off his radar.)
"What did you want in your stocking?" I asked.
"The usual," he said.
The usual is work gloves, M&Ms, and maybe on a good year, a magnetic flashlight.
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I've treated 2020 as a one-off. But it might, in fact, be a peek at the next new normal.
Dan and I spent our first 34 Christmases together surrounded by (initally) extended family, (and then) our own over-flowing offspring, (and recently) our rolling-stone children not yet settled in their own adult lives. All of this has involved lots of wrapping and carols and lights and stockings (and brutal Christmas Eve church services).
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This year I opted for a low-energy holiday. I bought a garland for the mantel instead of a tree. (Two days ago Dan asked me why we didn't have a tree.) I tossed the holiday throw-rugs down, but I skipped the outdoor lighting. I minimized our holiday meal, cooking a small ham, no baked grits, no pie.
In some ways, it felt freeing to shrug off the innumerable expectations shouldered by the (usually female) household holiday magicians.
But I also have to accept that Dan and I may have, if lucky, 25 years alone/together before we out! out! our brief candles.
What does Christmas for two even look like? I want to think about this and make it intentional instead of reactionary in the years to come.
Maybe I'll hang stockings. Maybe I'll ask Dan to fill them.
Enough.
Be well.
Write.
Allison
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| Wolf Hoegh |
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