Christmas Reconstructed

So the deep freeze has set in. It was the first true winter night the other night, with the sky glowing white and the snow not drifting, but rather on a mission. I'm walking quickly and carefully, trying not to spill hot coffee on my mittened hands. Smoke hangs frozen over chimeneys and the cars look like they are breathing along with us in this night air.

I can't help but wonder where spring will thaw me, but that is still so unimaginable from here, one foot in front of the frigid other through crunching snow and humbling wind. How can anyone get anywhere like this? How do they get anywhere from here?

Somewhere right now is having a heat wave. The thought of it pisses me off, but with the seasonal vitamin D deficiency, a lot of things get my ire up.

Back at home, chill still in my bones, I'm wrapped up watching ancient Christmas specials, a modern tradition as true as wrapping paper. I am conjuring the days when I myself set out cookies and really believed they were destined to bwecome more than a late night snack for my folks. I remember laying in bed, unable to sleep, wishing for sleep, dying for morning, listening to the radio chart the course of the tiny sleigh it had spotted in the sky. I am curled up here in my stiff, cold, adult body, trying to induce memories from a time when snow was a hobby; a reason to rush home after school, white gold to burrow through, climb on, no sense of cold or the looming darkness. I am excavating my mind for the sound of ripping paper and the smell of fresh crayons, and my heart for the thrill of all those bows and all those toys, and the warmth of a holiday meal only my Jewish grandma could do right.

And this year I am lucky enough to have not a pocket of presents, but rather a closet bursting forth with moments I am grateful for, people who fill me, and tiny fractals of commercialism carefully selected to make those I love smile. And underneath my cold, tired, adult body I do have a childlike heart overflowing with hope and gratitude, and despite my shields, and in spite of your surprise, I do feel joyful even through the commercials, and the weather, and the family politics. So I am sorry if you can't see my spirit, and can only see my elbows out for two whole shopping days left, and I'm sorry if you don't believe it because you've heard it too many times over too many years, but regardless of faith (this all has as much to do with Jesus as it does with pancakes), may the season fill you with warmth and smiles and hope. And may you share that with everyone.