December solstice

How beautiful it is outside! How cold. Winter solstice, perfectly presented.

I have an unusual and supremely helpful calendar quirk this year: Christmas Eve is on Tuesday. From then until New Year's Eve, nothing will move slowly. But I have three days now to get ready. The kids are spending time with other grandparents and on their own holiday preparations. Ed and I have a very quiet farmhouse. Three whole days of it! Enough time for getting things in order, don't you think?

 

 

You know the saying -- "Kto nie doznal goryczy ni razu, Ten nie dozna slodyczy w niebie?" Well, okay, perhaps you don't know it. They're words from Adam Mickiewicz's epic poem Dziady -- a 19th century literary masterpiece known to every Polish person who completed high school. (Mickiewicz was a writer, but, too, he was actively engaged in politics, and many would regard him as a philosopher, a Romantic, a teacher, and military superstar.) It means "s/he who has never experienced bitterness, will never taste sweetness in heaven." My Polish lit teacher took it to mean (and I did as well) -- crudely stated -- that you cannot appreciate the juicy sweetness of an apple unless you've tasted a rotten one first (the apple metaphor is my own). Or sentiments to that effect. For me, this gentle roll into the holidays is especially beautiful because it wasn't always like that. Never mind that my parents weren't especially holiday or tradition inclined. When I was already with my own very young kids, the days before Christmas were madness. I was a law student when the girls were at their youngest ages. For six years, the first half of December spelled exams, often all the way until just before the holiday. And inevitably one of us would come down with some bug, because, you know, 'tis the season. And of course, there was no online shopping. And I insisted on baking stuff myself, because the offerings just weren't good enough back then. When my younger girl was old enough to dance in the Nutcracker and started amassing parts that required her to have ringlet curls, preparing her for rehearsals and shows was another level of craziness. Money was tight, time was scarce. All of it was a fever pitch level of insanity that would drive anyone to despair. And yet, I loved the holidays. I know others had it a thousand times worse. And so I didn't care. I let go of ambition. No writing for Law Review for me. No perfection anywhere, in fact. Just joy. I sweated through the tough times, the strep throats, the exams, the long lines in stores, helped along by the music and the scent of a balsam in the living room. All that is in the past, and now here I am, retired, with a whole weekend of no demands on me! The sweetness of this apple knows no limits!

Breakfast, with Ed. Oatmeal. I have to cut back on sugar!

 

And then my patient and ever so tolerant guy agrees to put together two big toys -- one for Sandpiper and one for Sparrow. 

I tell him it's the last time I will need to put together big toys -- there's enough in the farmhouse to last all kids until they stop playing with toys (which isn't that far off anyway).

I tell him I'll donate away three big toys (that I decided aren't worth the space they take up).

I tell him this will keep things neater in the play room.

I tell him these will give the kids hours of play.

He tells me that kids would play with bricks and cardboard boxes equally well. Evidence: Dance, the cat. Her hands-down favorite toy is Snowdrop's hair tie.

I tell him he doesn't have to do it. He grins, takes out his phillips and sets to work.

I tell him thank you very, very much!

Each boy gets a table with drawers for the toy that comes with it -- a train/plane thing for Sandpiper, and tiny classic legos for Sparrow -- and these tables with their quirky storage bins are what require many screws and much patience. I help assemble the actual toys. The whole project takes us the better part of the day.

 

 

 

But not so that we haven't the time to ski in the forest. On winter solstice day, this is nothing short of magical.

We head out in mid-afternoon, but of course, the light is already low now. (Our sunset today is at 4:26 pm; our sunrise was at 7:26 a.m.) And golden!

The forest is still -- the kind of still that you get only with a snow cover.

If trees really do take care of us, we said our thanks to them today. 

At home now. At dusk, the deer come to the farmette lands.

I feel as if on this day we've all come together -- animals, birds, the two of us -- to celebrate the passage of time, the shift toward brighter days, always.

with so much love...