Whatever the reason, I decided right after Thanksgiving that THIS Christmas would be different. This year, I vowed to do away with my usual "Ebenezer Scrooge" Christmas mindset and give the season its rightful due. I would embrace every preparation it demanded, right down to the sprinkles pelting my last sheet of sugar cookies.
So, in record time--pay attention, Guinness people--I finished the shopping and sent out cards to inform everyone of our new address. I bought the new tree, put it up, and dressed it in all the old family ornaments that surfaced when we moved. I cooked an early Christmas dinner for Pa-pa's brothers, then wrote and directed a play for the church kids.
By this time, I was unstoppable. I saw a professional production of A Christmas Carol (Scrooge reformed in that one, too), drove through the light displays down on the harbor, and went to a couple Christmas parties. Finally, and still a good week before the big day itself, all I had left was wrapping the presents.
Now normally, in my former life as Scrooge, this would involve throwing the presents for each grandkid in a big holiday bag and calling it good. This year, however, I swear that my gorgeous tree, from its perfect place there in the great room corner, whispered to me, "Wrap! Wrap! I am too beautiful for cheapskate shortcuts. You must wrap!"
A trip to yet-unpacked boxes in the garage led me to three unopened rolls of blue and white snowman wrapping paper from various years of my former life. Three hours of deliriously happy snipping, folding, taping, and ribbon-curling later, my new tree looked like this.
For several nights afterward, with Pa-pa already down the hallway dreaming of sugarplums, I sat up in the tree-lit living room by myself, admiring my work. There were 36 presents in all, including four--wrapped separately but bundled together with ribbon--for each of the six grandkids.
Fast-forward to Christmas Day, with the traditional holiday meal devoured, the dishes in the dishwasher, and the kids piled in the floor with their stacks of presents. "Let's open them one at a time," someone said, creating a delightful alternative to the massive, chaotic upending of six huge bags.
It was great fun to watch the suspense build and the surprise register as each gift was meticulously unwrapped. At ages four through ten this year, the kids were old enough to be patient and wait to unwrap their own next presents in turn.
For me, it was a fitting culmination of a season in which I, too, had been patient enough to give each preparation its own time while contemplating its own special meaning in the sequence of all things Christmas. This year, unlike many before, I unwrapped the Christmas season myself in a way that helped me see it better, appreciate it more, and actually enjoy it.
Yesterday I packed up the ornaments and took down my beautiful tree. I hit the after-Christmas sales for deep discounts on cards, wrapping paper, and a few new ornaments. Instead of feeling only exhausted relief that the season is over, I surprised myself by beginning these modest preparations for next year.
I have found--or perhaps re-learned--that the weeks leading up to Christmas do not have to bog down in a tiresome flurry of obligatory activity. Begun early and savored one at a time, each preparation for the season can be a mini-celebration of its own.
This new year, I resolve from here on out to allow the Christmas season the joy it deserves. In that regard it would seem that I, like Mr. Scrooge himself, have some lost time to make up for.
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