Remains of the Day

Christmas was good... 

Sweet, memorable, full of fun and family and way too much yummy food. It was night rides to see the lights, squeaky precious Christmas concerts, a candlit service, glad tidings, comfort and joy. 

When it was all said and done, after our merriment was made, there was the familiar mix of sadness and eagerness. Always, on the day after, I'm so sorry to see it all end so fast, and yet so ready to move on. 

Our tree is already down, our mantle blissfully bare, the bright, busy poinsettia table cloth exchanged for a plain pale blue one, the snow village packed away to shine again another December, and in it's place all the lovely simplicity of milk glass and white candles. 

I've been cleaning out cabinets, reorganizing drawers, dusting, mopping, folding, washing and otherwise preparing to start 2009 off with a fresh clean slate. And OH that feels good. 

But... as exciting as that is, as full as this new year is sure to be with adventures and new stories to tell, there is still that tinge of sadness, isn't there? 

Already, looking back at this year's photos of Christmas celebrations, I think, "never again will they look just that way on Christmas morning." 

This year, and all that it held, has been unwrapped. 

But of course... that's part of what makes it all so special right, the fleeting goodness of it? 

So we tuck our ornaments and Christmas treasures into their tissue paper coverings and put them back into their boxes, and I wonder, who we will be, what dreams and hopes we will hold, what stories we will have lived out, when we unwrap them again next year? What will our eyes have seen, when we see these things again?

I can't help but wish that I could freeze time. That I could spend just a little while longer reveling in this perfect moment - when they are 7, 6 and 4, laughing, dressed up as a samurai, an Indian chief and a tiger, turning the quilts into a fort by the fire, reading stories to each other, then chasing chickens in the yard, and taking over my kitchen, so proud of their cookie-making prowess. 

But I can't. So I pause, breathe it all deeply in, and trust that this magic, this messy, crazy, loud life will hold new wonders tomorrow too. 

 And now we walk, hand in hand, warm and knit together, into a new year full of promise, ready to  receive it's blessings. 

I hope that this coming year holds joy for you and yours as well. 

We will see you back here in 2009.