The Tradition of Peace

Reflecting on holiday season 2009 I am instantly filled with happiness, pride and the urge to share many precious December moments that come vividly into mind. Sailor singing at her preschool performance, Phoebe 'nailing' her piano piece at her recital, listening to friends I'd never before heard whistle a tune belt out a favorite Christmas carol at our annual sing-a-long, and Hunter loading his bags on his back to leave for Peru. These moments are captured not only on my trusty Nikon, but also deeply embedded in my heart to hold onto forever.

I recently was trying to recall the "most memorable" Christmases all the way back to when I was little up until now. But really, what I assessed is that the things that I remember in my past about special aspects of the holidays involved senses, people, weather, and have nothing really to do with gifts. (Except, of course, the year I stepped out of my bedroom in the late 70's, crouched down on my knees at the top of the stairs and peered quietly downstairs only to see my Mom busily doing Santa's work.)

First to come to mind was our traditional tree, erected in the house on Christmas Eve after being flocked with white, smelly, sticky, paint stuff that gathered on the pine needles to create the effect of snow. We then decorated with fragile, red glass bulbs (always shattering a few) and gold tinsel and icicles. It truly was a beautiful sight; but also a mess of white paint crumbs and pine needles if we happened to accidentally disturb the tree. We almost always had snow by the 25th in Michigan, so I was always thrilled when the first flakes fell because that meant the season was upon us. The air was wet, and chill-to-the-bone cold with huge icicles dripping from our roof and dirty slush everywhere. I loved it. I would knock the giant ice monsters from our gutters when they threatened to get too big; sometimes long enough to nearly touch the ground. We always went to church on Christmas, once in a while to midnight mass which I enjoyed because then I got to stay up really late. I remember lying in bed trying so hard to fall asleep. Telling myself to "close my ears." Doing everything I possibly could to shut my eyes so that when Santa did come, at least he would think I was sleeping.

Probably the one thing so dear to me about childhood Christmases is that we all got along; my brothers didn't fight and were actually nice to me, my parents smiled at each other and we felt deeply the happiness and warmth of human peace. When it came to giving, we all delighted in each gift because we took turns and watched each other open every package. One person at a time, one gift at a time. It sounds like drudgery, I know. But we have continued this tradition at the Hill house and it is how we have learned to make the magic last just a little longer.

The two most unforgettable items that I unwrapped under the tree: my first tape recorder and a long-awaited pair of Kinney shoes. The tape recorder, as my brothers and Mom certainly remember, was used over and over when I recorded interviews with each of my stuffed animals. I hid under cover late at night and devised my own radio shows that lasted into the early hours. I also played my music: The Beatle's Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, Elton John, The Carpenters and the soundtrack to South Pacific over and over again while my brothers blared Led Zepplin in the room next to me. The Kinney shoes? Well, they were a trend, which as a general rule my Mom successfully refused to follow. Until finally, when I approached middle school I insisted I needed them because everyone else had the leather shoes with a 3/4 inch rubber, platformish bottom. She succombed, but only under the agreement that I let them be wrapped and put under the tree. I was giddy when I actually put them on my feet and tied the laces.

Rod and I have now spent over 20 Christmas holiday season's together. We have by default developed our own traditions, minus giant icicles and flocking. They include trudging to the muddy tree farm in mid-December; dressing the tree with red apples and setting the handmade angel atop; making frosted sugar cookies; shopping on Black Friday; singing with friends; waking dozing kids at midnight mass, and putting up lights on the house to welcome visitors to our door. Most importantly, we all get along and share the same warm feeling of peace I felt as a child. This year, we're separated for the first time while Hunter adventures in Peru, but we're certainly with him in spirit while he spreads "good will towards men" in another nation.

Sailor asked today, "Are we going to have another Halloween and Christmas?" I told her, "There's always another Christmas, Sailor. Always." I hope that you and yours are able to find the magic of the season, the tradition of peace, during the entire new year.

The Importance of What's Important

Have you ever felt like your life is running you instead of you running your life? That's where I've been the last few weeks. Time to reflect on the chaos and confusion that the latest drama creates is non-existent. Only because the moment I start to actually think about what is happening, my mind begins to travel in a direction I'm not ready to visit and I have to divert it with mundane tasks. Writing is not mundane. It requires creativity and focus, neither of which are byproducts of what I like to call "Jen's episodes." Therefore, I have been missing from my own blog. Absent from cyberspace, you might say, while dealing with MY space.

Most of you know we have been caught up in a whirlwind experience with the success of Hunter's football team here in Mt. Angel, and the state playoff final. I say it like that because what you may not know is that the game is small piece of what goes into such a remarkable event. Team dinners, travel planning, practices, parties, parent meetings, poster making, and so much more. While on the journey, we all experienced excitement, stress, anticipation, worry, anxiety, joy, and sadness. The team became stronger, the parents more dedicated, and the town of Mt. Angel was bursting with pride.

Someone said to me the other day a phrase we've all heard, "What matters is the little things...." and while initially it sounded trite I began later to reflect on such a simple statement. I thought carefully about the last few weeks and exercised my memory for a list of "the little things". I pieced together moments that brought clarity to life minus the elaborate build up or let down of a big game, a teenage melodrama, or holiday preparation.

Here are a few highlights:
Hunter showing Sailor (after months of persistent begging on her part) to putt
An afternoon walk on a sunny afternoon to catch up with a friend
Rod re-connecting with his brother and Mom for chats about football and updates on life
Phoebe and I accompanying one another (piano, guitar) playing holiday songs
Sailor saying, "Hunter, you're a football star and I'm a rock star."
Phoebe confidently perched on the piano bench with her friend teaching her to play a song
Hunter kneeling with his football helmet in hand shedding tears after the final game

The Trojans lost the state championship game 7-14. While it was sad, when I look back that's certainly not what I will remember about October-December 2009. The growth that happened in our family despite our own personal contests and the maturity of the football players through their phenomenal season are both, for lack of a better word, priceless.