The Season of Small Things

My mom - when she would do something she couldn’t believe she was doing, a thing about which she had once rolled her own eyes, an act that made a ton of sense BUT was straight out of the playbook of HER mother - would say, “Mirror mirror on the wall, I am my mother after all.”

As I pored over my grocery list Thanksgiving week, about 80% through the purchases, with a few more (many more) additions to come, I said to Mason, “Mirror mirror on the wall….this is straight out of Wiley Wasden’s playbook.” I had oysters from South Carolina defrosting, I had been to three grocery stores (thus far) and of course I drove to Merritt Pecan close to Albany to get pecan pies. (What?! They are the best! Order one for yourself.)

If I could have just one day with my father again, I would want to spend it riding to the Blufton Oyster Factory in his station wagon on a crisp fall day. Then on to Pooler for a caramel cake (if you don’t know the place, text me, they are LEGIT) and back to town to hit up Russo’s. We would talk. He would catch up with friends at every store. Maybe call a few in between our errands. We would talk more. He would sometimes be vulnerable, and share about his own loss and the pain he felt around people he wished were around but were not. He spoke of his mistakes, he encouraged me on how to avoid the potholes life would surprise me with, but even more importantly, how to gracefully bottom out in them, and pull yourself back up as best you could. He praised my mother, and all she did for us, and for him as a wife. Other times he would just annoy me with questions about whether or not I was saving enough money (I wasn’t). He usually had a good story about Hunt (who doesn’t!). If I wasn’t home yet, or coming in late, he would call me from his Car Phone and fill me in on what he had gotten to so far, or who he had seen at the SCDS Tip Off Too-Na-Ment (his Millen-ese accent in full effect).

The ingredients that bring nostalgia. Hymns we love. Downtime well-spent. Traditions that you never remember having, and some you added with purpose and intent. It is a season of high emotion for many, including those who are navigating change. And life is constant change, is it not? Whether you proactively made them, or they were put upon you, shifts at any age can throw off a balance to the point that we feel unmoored. I have felt this, and tried to help others through it. None of it is simple, and often times it is difficult.

We’ve unpacked ornaments lately that my mom organized for me probably ten years before she died, when my parents downsized houses. In New York I never had room for the PLETHORA of Christmas baubles my family collected over the years, so I have kept them at Tybee and now brought them to Midland. I have cried and laughed - with Mason and on my own- about all that is contained in those boxes. While I treasure what hangs on the tree, and am happy to revisit the carols I have memorized, what I am most moved by this time of year are my parents’ efforts throughout my whole life. Their commitment to get us to church and help us understand what a BIG deal it was that Jesus was born! Her thoughtfulness on saving these damn ornaments (“IS THIS CONSTRUCTION PAPER? ” my husband keeps marveling). Their marital willingness to make sure we spent Christmas Eve at Aunt Alice’s even thought they’d be up all night doing Santa thanks to the late departure from Harris Street (the woman could entertain beautifully but start time was a roll of the dice). All of it ensured Carr and I would be able to forge our own traditions, carry some of theirs forward, and - peacefully and with an open heart - absorb those of the people we choose to share our lives with today.

When you are young, you want Christmastime to last forever. When you are middle-aged you want Santa to wipe clean the AmEx. No holiday is perfect, and we should all accept it never will be! No good story comes from when the tree DIDN’T fall and the dog DOESN’T eat the entire cheese ball in one gulp from the coffee (True story, RIP Dixie). And for anyone who is navigating through this season without a person they’ve always had, or trying something new, or giving up something old…I truly am empathetic to what you are experiencing, and encourage everyone to just ASSUME THE BEST even if people act a little whack this month. We are all doing the best we can, every day. Including me, if you hear my King’s College Choir Christmas channel blasting and catch me (or Ashley in Charleston) crying in a parking lot around town the next couple of weeks. We are fine! Really!

I will tune up typing this, but these lyrics mean the most to me around this time of year, from Once in Royal David’s City:

For he is our childhood's pattern;
Day by day, like us He grew;
He was little, weak and helpless,
Tears and smiles like us He knew;
And He feeleth for our sadness,
And He shareth in our gladness.

I am sending compassion to anyone for whom this post resonates. You are loved, and remember, “Light and life to all He brings!” Thanks for reading, I appreciate it.