The last month has just been wonderful. A lot of time with family and close friends, time spent hurriedly (but joyfully) baking, shopping, wrapping, addressing 100’s of Christmas cards (I need to scale back on this- I love giving all my employees a hand-written Christmas card, but it becomes a significant burden as the clock ticks closer to Christmas). For the first time in recent memory, I felt completely joyful throughout our Christmas preparations. I didn’t road rage. I didn’t swear under my breath at the woman in the express checkout lane with 98 items in her cart. I didn't yell when I heated up chili in the microwave, neglected to cover it, and came back two minutes later to find that a "chili bomb" completely coated the inside of the 'wave. I tried to cultivate a spirit of patience and hospitality, practicing those very difficult skills!
I suck at patience. It's easily my biggest weakness.
And of course, I wasn’t perfect in my charitable thoughts. Not even close. But small choices of charity really mitigated my holiday-related stress. The absence of stress made room for even more joy and fun. Great friends spontaneously popping over with wine and cheese; gracious family visits filled with hysterical laughter; and a couple laid-back, “nothing will get done around Christmas anyway” weeks at work ushered in late, jovial evenings. In short, we lived the heck out of the holidays this year!
But as I sit here, reminiscing over the holiday season, a pit of depression threatens to suck me in. The extravagance is over. All the extra time with family and friends is over. The Christmas carols? Gone! Last box of Chocolate Charley? History. The time of celebration seems like it’s over. But does it have to be?
While I love preparing for Christmas and carefully decorating the tree, the cautious placement and spacing of outside lights, and intentional arrangement of nativity scene figures, I am just as excited to pack the Christmas decorations away once January 1 comes. I know the Christmas season doesn’t really end until Epiphany (technically, the Baptism of the Lord), but I feel this crazy need to CLEAN. After the craziness of Christmas and the emotional hangovers of New Year’s celebrations with the best of friends, I always have to start the New Year with a clean house. A clean closet. A clean mind. I throw open the windows, dust the oft-forgotten corners, bleach the heck out of the white towels so they are radiant white, and I work all day to organize my goals, priorities, and suits for work.
This is when we buckle down and scarcely look up until May. Every week has a robotic feel to it; the routine usually soothes me. From lands of too many sweets and not enough broccoli, I relish the dependable schedule of hard work, carefully planned, nutritious meals, allotted exercise time, and football-free Saturday's.
Each season has its perks. Autumn welcomes falling leaves, sweatshirts, new school years, and Notre Dame football. Thanksgiving ushers in a solid month of merrymaking and high-carb treats. Winter excites the snowbunnies, skiers, and soup fanatics (another one of our goals- have a pot of soup/stew perkin’ every Sunday). Spring reminds us of new birth, growth, and days that are finally light past 6pm. Summer promises fun times at the lake, bonfires, cook outs, and al fresco eats on the patio.
But for me, January 1 starts a whole new season: the season of routine and discipline. After the extravagance and overindulgences of the holidays, a predictable existence is sometimes okay. Sometimes it’s preferred.
So we’re going to buckle down, scale down, and celebrate a return to normalcy. It’s all a cycle- soon we’ll be sick of all the long hours and we will be dreaming of Jimmy Buffet-esque beaches and umbrella drinks. But if the still-green grass has anything to say about it, spring will be here before we know it.
Make it a great New Year.
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