And… Dance by the Light of the Moon

It turns out that some traditions were meant to be kept. This year has been a really tough one, and I really meant to make it through the winter holidays by being strong and as cheerful as possible, for my son’s sake. But the universe, it seems, insisted on celebration and we are blessed with the generosity and love of special friends.

Last night, Christmas Eve…

Heiligabend when I was growing up in Germany was marked by lighting the Adventskranz, and teatime with Baumkuchen, Stollen, and my mom’s collection of delicious cookies. Here, in the morning that preceded Christmas Eve, I met the director of my son’s daycare school. She had generously offered Langston her son’s train set which he has outgrown. When we arrived, I was overwhelmed – my son’s two loving teachers had left bags and bags of treasures for Christmas Day. “They wanted Langston to have Santa,” The director explained. Food, lots of food, and toys, books, and clothes. I cried all the way home, moved by the generosity of people who, only five months ago, had been complete strangers to us.

Christmas Day, Langston was busy at his easel, a gift from another friend. He organized his crayons, and frequently stopped to studiously sketch or dot the paper. All day long we played with his toys, we read the newest books in his collection, and we stopped to laugh and laugh. At teatime, the candles were lit on the table, reminding me that even as we add new traditions to our experience, some old traditions persevere such as the peace of sitting with family, in still and loving appreciation of our mutual company and the sweet things in life.

As the evening wound down, with Langston bowing in giggles as we read Blue Hat, Green Hat , I watched one of my favorite movies for the holidays: It’s A Wonderful Life. They just don’t make them like that anymore. So rich, so full of perfect acting and sincerity. As I walk through our home, softly lit by twinkle lights, corners of the living room filled with unexpected gifts, I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror. My frizzy hair hangs in its usual braids, but my face is restful and smiling. I very recently lost a dear friend, but if he were here, I know he’d agree: everything is going to be okay.