Holidays in the time of a pandemic

 

These days I think all of us have been touched by death, either personally or from just listening to the numbers every day. I'm not sure how many non-believers there are out there but I'm trusting that their numbers are dwindling either by education or some other means.

When this all began to surface at the beginning of the year I know we felt it would be over soon. We marked the weekends and holidays trusting that probably by the next major holiday things would surely be better. Mother's Day, Oh well, I guess that was too much to expect. Father's Day, no. Then I think somewhere near the Fourth of July many of us recognized this was not going away anytime soon. We watched in disgust, bikers continuing to hold their precious rallies, maskless and shameless while hospital workers pressed on sleepless and helpless to stop the disease. I don't know what some of those maskless people thought. I guess they just felt invulnerable. The disease is fake news. They didn't know anyone who was sick, 'party on, this is 'merica. Land of the free' (and stupid). I digress.

Like knowing a storm was coming I hunkered down, (lucky to share my home) with my very loving and understanding boyfriend to wait out whatever was coming to us. I know we were aware that the holiday season was going to be affected. Certainly, Halloween was lost to the pandemic but then Thanksgiving came. We were able to do a "Zoom" call and "Face time". We discussed our various meals and holiday snafus and then I settled into the endless night that followed thinking of all the Thanksgivings over the years and how each one brings something into my life.

I recalled the first one I ever cooked. It was 1971 and I was living in Schenectady with my new boyfriend and his roommate. My parents had turned their backs on me then for various reasons so there was no plan to make the trek home to New England. The three of us decided to do the holiday ourselves. How hard could it be? I was completely unaware of what was necessary, except the ingredients. The resulting meal didn't make it to the table until 2AM, but I do believe it was good. That was the beginning of learning to roll with whatever happens, something my Mom never was very good at. 

After that comes the December holidays. I may have, at one time or another, celebrated most of the common western December holidays. These days it's Yule with a tree, lights, and beautiful glittering ornaments. Usually, there would be a meal of roast pork along with many of the side dishes that show up on Thanksgiving. Not this year. That's a meal more suited to a larger group. This year it will just be the two of us.  Maybe I'll get a nice piece of salmon, some baked potatoes, and a crisp rose`. 

I have always put up a real tree, handpicked and wonderfully fragrant, lovingly decorated but last year my boyfriend expressed his distaste for watching a beautiful evergreen slowly die in a corner of the living room. He was right, of course. I am a self-professed tree-hugger, cheerfully scrutinizing dying evergreens in parking lots to finish dying in my living room. He had found an exposed nerve of mine bringing me to buy a very nice pre-lit fake tree at the end of the season for a great price. All year long, after the purchase, I thought about this first Yule without a real tree. What would my children think of me? Add to all of that, Covid holidays and this is a very weird holiday season for all of us.

It took great effort to make the decision to bring the box with the tree out of the basement. It took even more effort to take it from the box and set it up. It was a totally alien practice to me. I did feel it was important to go through the holiday motions, like getting up at the same time each day and taking a shower when necessary. It took a few days to accomplish getting to the point when the lights were plugged in and flashing away joyfully. But then there were the ornaments.

There are three plastic totes of these precious possessions of glitter and glass. The first is full of ancient ones recovered from my mother's collection. The second has the kitty proof ones and multiples of lesser ones. The third box has all the most special ones, collected carefully over many years of single-me, married-me, mommy-me, divorced-me, and now-me.

Naturally, the ancient ones stay put away. I didn't find the third box until I'd populated the tree with many of the ornaments from the second tote and I sat unsatisfied and sad knowing that just the two of us would be sharing this tree. I resolved to find the third tote and put up the 'special' ones from that box. 

I brought up the box this afternoon. I looked at the top where the Hallmark birds were and I couldn't. This year was incomplete, going through the motions, hard to celebrate. But it wasn't without some good things. It seemed the better decision to not go all the way, to hold back somewhat. It hurt a little to put the cover back on the tote and make the decision to put them back into the basement for twelve more months. Who knows what will transpire over those months? I did pull out the photo-ornaments of the kids from brownies and pre-school or first grade but in this weird holiday where I'm missing so much, I felt it was more fitting to put them away.

Over the past several years I've gained a deeper appreciation of how differently each December can be when it finally arrives. The participants vary greatly sometimes bringing either joy or great sadness. These ornaments feel like markers in time and I couldn't help but wonder what the next December will look like when I look uncover them again.

I know there are many out there who are looking at holes in their holidays that are far more painful than just not being together. I can't imagine having lost someone to this pandemic. I'm trusting that things will get better for so many reasons but I am also a bit fearful that the winds of change that blew through this nation, and the world in 2016 aren't ready to quit just yet. The hurtful and hateful continue making noise and still wish to make their agendas ours. I'm choosing to give hope more credence than hate, allowing my attention to go towards the 'possible good' and not the 'possible bad'. Where we stick our attention matters.

So, to the box of precious beauties still boxed in the basement, rest and stay hopeful for reunions and celebrations to come. Maybe a Yule at the summer solstice instead of the winter one. Who knows? It seems like a good idea.