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I have a confession to make, and since everyone’s so “Hail fellow, well met!” this time of year, so willing to accept differences that they’d never tolerate in July, I may as well spit it out now.
We don’t all celebrate the same things, which accounts for Hanukkah, the Winter Solstice, Christmas, Boxing Day, Kwanzaa, the Feast of Santa Lucia and New Year’s Eve.
As a young mother I celebrated them all. We were no sooner done cutting
out paper turkeys and making pilgrim hats, than it was time to start
baking. The kitchen was full of little kids with flour in their hair
and the tell-tale sign of red frosting on their tongues. The dining
room was virtually filled with paper chains made by eight little Blue
Birds.
Dad spent a single night assembling bikes, trikes and wagons, and Mom
spent the rest of the month trying to keep up with messes that sprung
up like mushrooms after a warm spring rain.
Why is food coloring indelible? Certainly the people who make the stuff
realize that children are going to spill it. And then the marketers put
it in little squeeze bottles, making it possible for a boy to put green
food coloring in his sister’s hair from clear across the room.
I explained the different holidays and their meanings. My kids played
with dreidels and knew about the Maccabees and the Miracle of the Oil.
With every sugar cookie came a lesson in philosophy or comparative
theology. I made sure they understood the concept of Boxing Day, so
they’d know that Mom had a perfect right to lie on the sofa and do
nothing the day after Christmas.
And now I’m alone. And here’s my confession — I wouldn’t have it any
other way. This year, my birthday, the first day of Hanukkah and the
Winter Solstice happened together and I had a lovely candlelight
ceremony.
I invited Raven, Coyote, Bear and the Grandmothers to join me. I
honored the Miracle of the Oil in the miracle of stove pellets that
didn’t run out on a very cold night. I celebrated the birth of sons and
suns, as well as my own.
I softly said farewell to those who are no longer part of life as we
know it. I honored the directions, the seasons, the Divine Mother and
the teachers of all traditions. Candlelight is lovely viewed through
tears of solemn joy.
So when y’all collapse exhausted before the groaning table, knowing
you’ll soon have to start the clean-up, think of me. You, too, may
someday have the joy of being a solitary elder. You, too, may someday
get to spend the winter holidays in the company of a crab with nothing
to say and all the seasonal movies you never had time to watch.
It is my deepest desire for this season of love and light that we all
have full hearts and full bellies, that we’re warm and safe and happy.
Truly, joy to the world.
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Opinion 
