Christmas Eve, morning thoughts

It is Christmas Eve.  As is my habit, I am up before dawn.  The house is dark and quiet. The Christmas tree provides the only light in the room. The smell of the last, late-night batch of cookies is just barely discernible. My wife and children are still sleeping and I am being as quiet as possible so I don't disturb their restful slumber. I hear the low rumble of the furnace working.  The chill from the night air is slowly being overtaken by the warmth that has begun pumping through the floor vents. There is just the slightest hint of dawn approaching over the trees to the east. I am sitting at the kitchen table this morning with a cup of hot coffee attempting to count my blessings.  It is in the peacefulness of these early morning hours I am most grateful.  I consider some of the challenges I face, but when they are listed on the ledger against the things that are wonderful in my life, I realize that am well in the black with large reserves for the tough times should they occur.  It is, perhaps, this gratefulness that that connects one's spirit to God. This moment is both a gift of love to me and a my prayer of thanksgiving.

Through the window I see the diffused light of morning begin to brighten the yard.  It is a chilly overcast day and a few snow flakes are visible blowing around in a light breeze. Wild turkeys are pecking the ground around neighbor's bird feeder.  The world is beginning to awaken.  My youngest daughter, already filled with the excitement of the day bounds into the room.  With tussled hair and sleepy eyes, she give me a hug and moves off to a big comfy chair by the tree, pulls a blanket over her legs and flips open the Kindle that quickly occupies her attention.  Her brother, my eldest, is sleeping on the pullout couch nearby.  He stirs slightly, sensing the new presence in the room, pulls a blanket up over his shoulder and returns to sleep.  I will take just another moment now to slow down and enjoy this new entry in the credit column and then begin my day.

Springtime in December

The weather this morning is unbelievable.  Just three days before Christmas and I am sitting on my front porch, watching the diffused light of the dawn slowing illuminate the yard.  I am sitting comfortably in my favorite Adirondack chair wearing a sweater, jeans and slippers.  It's an overcast, dreary morning but it's unusually warm.  There is a slight breeze that feels cool on my face and a misty, drizzle of rain, almost imperceptible at times but occasionally working itself up into a minor shower, releasing its pent up energy and returning to the gentle sprinkle.

The yard and road beyond are wet, but the porch is dry and  cozy.  The Christmas lights decorating the railing seem strangely out of place this morning.  It feels more like the beginning of spring than the beginning of winter and a vague, unsettled feeling that the decorations need to be put away occurs for a brief moment before the realty of calendar reasserts itself in my mind.   My attention is drawn to a noticeable low pitched drone that could be mistaken for a strong, wind blowing through trees.  When I realize there are no leaves on any of the trees, it becomes apparent that is the sound water rushing across a rocky riverbed. The rain and snow melt of the past few days have turned the lazy, almost silent flow of the nearby stream into a noisy, powerful, torrent. 

The birds are about this morning, probably as confused as the weather.  I see a female cardinal nearly hidden by her natural color among the bare branches of the crab apple tree.  The chickadees are zipping about from branch to branch, seemingly in a hurry but unsure of the reason for their haste or their even their destination.  A titmouse alights on a branch close by. She pauses just a moment, glances left and right then darts off in another direction.  There are many birds calls but only few visible birds; a testament to mother nature’s camouflage.  The whole world has seems to have a brown and beige, earth-tone color that merge with the winter wardrobe of the animals.  Even the lawn has a slight brown tint that mutes the dull green of the dormant, winter grass. 

The deer make their appearance in the next act of the morning.  I only notice them because of their movement, otherwise they are invisible among the leafless branches of bushes and trees.  One is very small.  It is hard to tell from this distance but it appears to still have spots.  I suspect that the larger one is the mother.   They seem unaffected by the rain and are lazily grazing along the bushes and wondering just inside the tree line.

The sun is up and the day is getting away from me now.  As much as I am enjoying this unexpected morning respite on the porch, I need to get moving.  My coffee cup is empty and I hear the girls moving about in the house.  I am now anxious for the springtime to come in earnest.

The Mornings Before Christmas

The house is dark and quiet.  The sun is just beginning to illuminate the room with a soft, morning glow.  I have some quiet Christmas music playing and the colored lights on the tree in the corner of the room are glowing red, green, orange and blue.  The room is a little chilly but there is a small space heater keeping my feet and legs warm and comfortable.  This is Christmas Eve morning.  It is a gift from God to me and I am thankful.

Christmas Concert

As I climb out of my car I take a quick glance at my watch.  It is almost six o'clock.  The concert is supposed to start at six and I have a block or so walk from the parking lot.  The evening is bitter cold and the winter breeze takes my breath away as I step out of my warm car.  I put my head down, turn up the collar of my heavy overcoat and make my way toward the school.  They always start a little late, I tell myself as I stride along the sidewalk, trying not to breath the frigid air too deeply into my lungs.

I look up as I cross the street and approach the front doors. There are a handful of other men in long coats, a few still wearing their ties, coming from the various parking areas.  We are all taking long determined strides toward the school, some occasionally taking a quick glance at a cell phone or a wrist watch.  This annual parade of the late arriving dads is seldom witnessed, but occurs every year right before the Children's Christmas concert and I am a long term participant. In these last few steps to the building, each of us makes the transition in our own way from the cares of work to the cares of family.  For me, the last words of the conversation I was having on the way out the office door echos in my head; "...go be a dad and enjoy the concert!"  It would seem to be such an easy thing.

Another father reaches the front door of the school just before me, marches through and holds it open for me.  In what almost seems to be a choreographed motion, I return the favor to a father behind me and he for the parent behind him.  The lobby is warm and the first few steps into the school provide a welcome relief from the wind and the cold.  I look around for a second to get my bearings.  There are children everywhere.  Ahead of me, through the gymnasium doors, I see a mass of humanity.  It will be a full house.  There is a general, pervasive drone of noise.  Occasionally I can pick out specifics, usually involving a teacher giving directions or answering a question of a young person. The apparently unlimited patience of the teachers is striking and I say a short silent prayer of thanksgiving for these wonderful people.

My phone chirps to announce the receipt of a text message.  I dig through my overcoat and sport coat to get to the inner pocket holding the phone while simultaneously making a mental note to silence this device.  The text message is from my wife with directions to the seat she saved for me on the bleachers.  Now armed with my final destination, I make my way through the lobby, dodging lines of children preparing for their entrance, teachers hovering over the children and occasionally looking up to welcome a parent, mothers pacing with infants in need of a nap and a few of the straggling fathers on cell phones finishing up last minute business.

With the first step though the doors into the gym, I allow myself to fully transition from the outside world into a world filled with faces, colors, lights, warmth, and something else too.  It might be Christmas spirit, it might be the strong sense of a community coming together to celebrate, it might be the invisible sea of excitement and anticipation of all of the young people and their families that has filled the building.  I can't exactly put my finger on, but as I cross the threshold I feel as if someone has lifted a heavy burden from me, wrapped a warm blanket over my shoulders, handed me a warm cup of hot coco and pointed to a large chair by the fire.  This feeling lasts just a moment, but I am aware that I've managed leave my work worries outside.

Barb waves to me from high in the bleachers and I pick my way through the other parents, up the bleacher seats as if I was scaling a mountain looking for best path among the rocks. As I settle into the seat next to Barb and struggle out of my overcoat, I look over the assemblage of parents, siblings and relatives filling the chairs on the gym floor and the bleachers on the other side of the gym.  I notice that the substantial number of people standing in the back.  It is definitely a full house.

The risers on the stage at the end of the gym are full of children festively dressed in reds and greens, skirts and ties. Their ranks flow down to another set of risers in front on the stage.  From the tableau you wouldn't think our Catholic schools are having any enrollment challenges.  It is the biggest group I've seen in the years I've had children in the system.  Barb leans over and points out our youngest daughter on the stage and I am struck with how pretty she looks in her red and black Christmas dress.  I think to myself, "when did she get so big?"  Teachers are still moving about getting the last of the children into position.  The lights go dim and the principle welcomes everyone.

The music begins.  This student body belts out a Gloria to begin the concert.  It is amazing.  They fill the space with their voices and it resonates in my heart.  They seem to channel all of the pent up excitement and nervous energy of the day into the music.  I take a deep breadth and relax a just a bit more, banishing the last bits of the work day from my consciousness, at least for the next hour or so.  It is time to sit back, be a dad and enjoy the concert.

White Friday

It's early Friday morning, the day after Thanksgiving.  I stand here with a warm cup of coffee in my hand, looking out my kitchen window.  The backyard is covered in white. The thin, uniform coating of freshly fallen snow, has yet to be disturbed by deer, turkey or the other animals that frequent my yard.  White flakes of snow continue to fall from some unseen source in the sky, but the box must be nearly empty.  There are just occasional crumbs falling now, here and there, lazily drifting down and blending seamlessly into the white blanket that accumulated over night.  There is a sense of gazing into a large snow-globe that is settling down after a good shake.  

Every horizontal surface is white, the lawn, the deck and its wooden railings, the picnic table and its benches. The wind seems calm allowing even the smallest surfaces like the thin branches of the birch tree and the wooden top of the wind chimes to retained their tiny coating of snow this morning. Only the vertical surfaces of the brown tree trunks, the walls of neighbor's red shed and the greenish-grey 4x4 posts holding up the play house are left showing their contrasting earth tone colors.

The sky is mostly cloudy but it allows for an occasional, pleasant glimpse of a clear and iridescent  blue behind the white clouds.  The sun has just risen above the tree covered hills to the east.  The clouds have cleared from that area as if chased westward by the coming of the day. The new day's bright light reflects of all the white surfaces and the yard almost glows.  It hardly makes any sense to have so much light and so little heat.  I stand quietly sipping my coffee, considering the benefits of my de facto decision to avoid the retail stores this morning and enjoy this pleasant morning sunrise.