Some Holidays Do Linger

There must be a holiday coming ‘round the bend because I’ve got a dust cloth in my hand. Normally, the layers of dog hair, stove grit and dust mites pile up on my shelves and furniture without much consideration from me but I’ve got my Christmas ornaments spread out all over the dining room table, and the ceaseless glow from the mountain of bling is causing me stress. It all needs to be put out, today.

I tell myself that dusting is a task to look forward to, because I get to re-connect with the items I love enough to keep. Dusting the tall, wanderer nutcracker I remember my friend, Mark, who hiked and hiked and hiked, often with folks several decades younger than he was. The felted lamb my daughter brought me from Sweden, the tiny flower arrangement Lois made me, the crewel picture Joan gave me, saying she didn’t see the mistake in it ‘til it was finished and framed. I still can’t find a single missed stitch.

Setting out our ornaments is pretty simple these days, especially the last twenty years or so that we haven’t put up a tree. After years of leaving the live pine “as is” until almost Easter-time I learned that I really don’t like undressing the tree as much as I liked prettying it up. The last time we had a tree I draped it in a bed sheet and pulled it out the front door before starting the process of removing the ornaments and lights. This took place on a warm day in early April, I recall. I’m a slow learner about some things, but honest facts eventually sink in. Last Christmas I timed myself and the house was pretty much gussied up in 30 minutes, not counting the dusting.

For some reason I can’t make the cleaning go any faster as time passes by. It truly takes me about 45 minutes to dust our family room and that’s even after I put dozens of books away in storage. Perhaps I’m taking too long to fondle and ruminate on the fewer treasures I have kept because they seem to stay in my hands and thoughts long after the act of dusting is completed. The “get it done” part of me becomes impatient at my slowness but the “enjoy the moment” part of me says not to worry. I do linger over the memories and connected trails of thought that float around my head while I think I’m just dusting.

Which makes me remember the mom I met on the sidelines one season when my daughter played soccer in high school. She was always on her feet and moving at the practices and games, being friendly to the rest of us but keeping close track of her daughter’s play. Listening to her I guessed she was from Germany and we talked about my growing up with German grandparents right next door, and all the delicious kuchen. After a few weeks she confided that she was a little surprised at how one of her neighbors reacted to her housecleaning practices, especially window washing. Turns out that my friend’s habit of washing her windows weekly was a rare thing among all the other homeowners in her little cul-de-sac. I laughed and joked about how my mom always emphasized how important it was to “get the corners clean.” My fellow soccer mom agreed, and understood.

Do I wash my windows weekly? Are you kidding? But I know that what you grow up doing often seems right to continue doing. Or, like me, what you get in the habit of doing often feels more and more comfortable over time, even if the outside world finds it puzzling. Like leaving the desiccated holiday tree drooping in its stand while forsythia blossoms signal spring in Virginia.

                            My family sure threw a wild holiday bash...