christmas trees and happy memories
I had the most wonderful visit in Vancouver with the boy last week. I am now back home in the cold of Montreal, with little to do other than await and prepare Christmas. Before I share a bit about my time on the West Coast, I wanted to write down a thing or two.
On December 1st, a few short weeks ago, we got our Christmas tree.
I had planned on writing about our tree earlier in December but haven't been able to sit and gather my thoughts until now (hello, finals)- but here we are. It only seemed right to write down little musings I do not want to forget about our evergreen of Christmas 2018.
She's plump (the best kind), filled with lights (clear, merry and bright), all decked out (mismatching ornaments- each a memory, each telling a story) and smells of winter and Christmas goodness (we're in the real tree camp, and good luck convincing me to change positions).
And what a beauty she is.
I have always cared deeply about traditions, and their power to bring us together and remind us of greater truths. And I must say- there is a wealth of them agglomerated in the Christmas season (read about some of my family's here). That might explain why I love this season so dearly.
For some reasons, however, I am taking our traditions very seriously this year- perhaps more than usual. I have been particularly firm (read militaristic) about our usual practices in the weeks leading up to Christmas- whether it be the decorating, baking, music listening, advent reading, etc. etc.
I took a moment to think about this heightened attachment to our traditions as we decorated the tree (with Bing singing, strings upon strings of twinkling lights, mulled cider in hand) - and it soon dawned upon me that these strange feelings this Christmas were nothing other than nostalgia.
Because, slowly but surely, I am realizing my years living at home are slowly coming to an end.
Growing pains, I think they call it.
In a few short months, I'll be moving out. Of course, I feel much excitement- I am so grateful for the opportunities that have presented themselves to me (more on that in a future blog post!). I also recognize I have been afforded more years at home than most- who move from home early on for school, or due to difficult family situations, etc.
As I was placing ornaments collected during our family trips or handpicked by my mother year by year since I was a newborn, I realized how much I will miss doing life daily with my little tribe. My people.
I know, of course, that I will be back. I recognize traditions don't just end when you move out. But there is something special about the last Christmasses we will spend together as four residents of the same home. It is beautiful and important and sacred. I want to remember it all.
I want to remember mom's best Christmas cookie recipes.
I want to remember how she had decorations for every room (bins full)- how every room seemed to have a festive theme, and every item had a specific spot.
I want to remember the Charlotte Church Christmas album, always the first one we took out- how it represents Christmas to me, how it sounds like a prayer.
I want to remember the ongoing jokes about Dad never taking the Christmas lights down until June (which he often did not).
I want to remember the neighbours that piled into our little home, for food and drink and laughs and cheer on the week before Christmas.
I want to remember the four of us meeting in the living room and lighting Advent candles, week by week.
I want to remember learning about the meaning of the wreath (eternity, joy everlasting), the tree (needles pointing heavenward, unchanging colours- like our God of hope who fulfils His promises).
I want to remember our small, simple nativity scene- reminder of the scarcity in which the Son of God came on that night, to be reconciled with us.
I want to remember sleeping in the living room with my sister on Christmas eve (fighting over the couch), so we could fall asleep by the tree.
I want to remember Dad reading the story of Christ's birth to my sister and I- even before we understood what it all meant, how it changed everything.
I want to remember Mom's soft tears when she took out the teacup ornament every year, her own mother's, and the stories she shared about their Christmasses together.
I want to remember the Christingle service on Christmas Eve - how we'd dress up, drive into the city, and sing hymns of joy for the coming of Christ.
I want to remember driving through our neighbourhoods and ooh-ing and aah-ing at the different Christmas lights illuminating the winter streets.
I want to remember the year that three of my grandparents were with us on Christmas morning.
I want to remember singing carols with our church, door by door.
I want to remember the many people who were invited to our Christmas table, who had nowhere else to go.
I want to remember Dad's odd choices of stocking stuffers (a fork?)- and the laughs that ensued.
I want to remember the annual Christmas sing-in- thinking those voices must be those of angels.
I want to remember Christmas morning, the overwhelm of generosity, the sweetness of hot cocoa.
I want to remember the roads travelled on Christmas day- to Michigan, Ottawa, Toronto, Ohio- toward our kin.
I want to remember extended family gathering over mouthwatering meals and so much shared love, a gathering of blessings.
And I want to remember the Christmas tree of 2018. Us four together, in praise of that very moment, with nowhere to be but home. Ornament by ornament, light by light, poinsettia by poinsettia- we were walking on the path of a tradition. And these traditions, these moments, will forever remain in the depth of my marrow. No matter where my home is, so much of who I am and what this season means to me will always be wrapped up in every one of these precious, precious memories.
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