I was rummaging through photos of Christmas past, which were reminding me of the ritual of it all and the “Griswald’s Family Christmas”.
This blog is about doing more of life, free from the confines of clothing. We may have similar holiday preparation experiences with others, but we do much of it happily nude.
Those years, we decided to have Christmas at DF’s place in town. The kids would come over, we’d feast and exchange presents. After hot chocolate, we’d bundle up to walk among the holiday lights of Winterhaven, where the grass and tall mature old trees are the perfect ambiance for decoration. Tens of thousands visit there each year.
The ritual of decoration sometimes becomes a little like spring cleaning. One notices a few details.
We do things in a much more modest fashion than the lights of Winterhaven. DF has bought new strings of Christmas lights; tis the season to purchase them. She slips on a blouse just in case someone passes by and she stands high on a stool to stretch lights across her patio awing. She calls me over occasionally, to hold a portion, or hammer in a nail. It is at times an irritating hassle, but the trouble gives fun results. It is so much of a fun result that we decide to leave them up all year. They are festive during parties and entertaining when we feel it during the year. In Baja Arizona, the tradition is that strings of lights just cease to be for Christmas after the holidays end and they become party lights. These white ones give a good practical light to the porch. Okay, of course, they don’t have to be taken down and put back up next year, too…or for the next backyard party.
The Arizona sun is out and temperatures are very pleasant to be in her yard naked. Still, when the dark of night comes through, the temps plummet and a warm fire place in the living room is a pleasurable solution. So, this afternoon is a good time to break out the electric chainsaw and finish off the chore of making the pile of collected mesquite scraps into shorter lengths.
I love chopping, cutting and splitting wood, especially with warn sunshine on me.
The storage closet is sifted through until the containers of decorations are found. DF has a small plastic tree, a good size for her living space when the area is packed with relatives. All should decorate easily, but we forget that that is an illusion from memories forgotten. That reality is drowned in happy reminiscent thoughts during each passing year.
That evening, the fire place glows as we decorate. Those old strands that looked so good on the tiny tree before, have magically clung together again, and into a confusing tangled ball.
They must be carefully disengaged without pulling them, laid out across the temporally wrecked cluttered room, as to keep them from tangling once again.
DF has a new device that promises to fix the burnt bulbs in the strands of lights. She squints in her labor to discover which of the tiny bulbs to replace and gently squeezes the parts with tools and without ruining the whole.
Eventually, with patience winning over the tedious project, a glowing tree is reborn.
The decision as to where to place it, to display it, requires that the furniture be moved around into a new configuration.
With difficulty, a glass of wine and some special holiday chocolate, eventually, the lamp lights are off and the tree illuminates the room. It demands love and attention. Next to the warm fireplace with its flickering light, we are lying on the floor, the project is over, and it is feeling like lovely Christmas, again.