Writing Myself Out

I have yet to finish up the letter to Sara that will be my day 3 entry, but I will not let perfectionism get in the way of posting this response to the next Journal Your Christmas prompt, which has to do with your “perfect Christmas”.

Perfectionism… It’s a nasty bit of trickery our minds play on us, making us believe that if what we do or what others do or what our situation in life is (location, finances, etc.) doesn’t measure up to either our desires or our expectations, we simply can’t enjoy it. Christmastime seems to be particularly plagued by such thinking… so in order to combat it, let me just get this out there: if I had my “perfect” Christmas, it would not look like the one I will be experiencing this year.

In my perfect world, December would be 31 days of sunshine with just a skiff of white, glittering snow on the sidewalks, and temperatures no lower than -10 Celsius. I would be able to easily locate numerous pairs of correctly-matched, stylish gloves, and head out to see well-pruned lilac bushes, peonies and tiger lilies ready to bloom next summer in my front yard, and my paid-off, in great condition silver Malibu still in my driveway instead of crushed beyond recognition in some auto wrecking dump since the thief destroyed it last November (although the replacement Toyota Sienna mini-van would still be here as well, to make trips with Sara easier). The town would have a well-stocked local bookstore, a coffeehouse open both on Sundays and Mondays (which it is not) but after 5 p.m. as well, and a movie theatre closer than an unaffordable 200-plus kilometres away, playing “The Voyage of the Dawn Treader” on the big screen.

I would not be worried at all about what will happen to our “budget” in January, once my maternity leave runs out, or about Sara’s upcoming CT scan (in fact, she would not be needing one at all). My sister-in-law’s pregnancy would not be considered risky, and either we would be travelling out to B.C. to spend Christmas with my brother Curtis and his family, or he, Pauline and Haven would be coming here for Christmas Eve, along with my parents, instead of Mom and Dad being in B.C. with them and without us. And if my Christmas was absolutely perfect, the house would be sparkling clean (ideally thanks to a housekeeper), my lower back would not hurt, and I would never yell in frustration at my baby girl’s antics, and then cry because of my flaws as a mommy.

And finally, amongst the branches of our gorgeous, 7 ft. tall, genuine Christmas tree, which would never shed any dry needles or threaten to topple over (and thus need to be attached to the curtain rod with a strap), and which could have decorations right to the bottom while Sara simply looked with awe and never grabbed for a ball or chewed on a string of lights, there would be a very enticing envelope which I would know, just KNOW, contained a pair (or maybe more, so family members and a nanny could come too) of tickets for a fabulous two-week cruise to Mexico or Hawaii for the beginning of February, when the winter weather here is at its most horrible. Oh, and we wouldn’t owe anything for them, and all the rest of our debt would be paid off too – even the mortgage.

And now that THAT’S out of the way, I will say, ‘Hallelujah – my actual Christmas is still going to be wonderful,’ and remember this:

“The gloom of the world
Is but a shadow;
Behind it,
Yet within reach,
Is joy.
Take Joy.” – Fra Giovanni

In all my years of conscious recollection (ie. school age onwards), I have never lived without snow. Oh, yes, of course Saskatchewan has its hot summer days, and crisp autumn days, and even the occasional day of buds on the trees that could be called “spring”, but winter is the most repeated and most dominant note in the symphony of our year.

We moved to Regina from British Columbia (where, as my mom so often longingly recalls, they have “daffodils in February”) in 1978, when I was nearly five, and then I attended university in Winnipeg, Manitoba (also known as “Winterpeg”) from 1991 to 1995, and did spent 9 months studying and doing volunteer work in Lithuania before returning to my home province. And now my husband and I live in La Ronge, which is northern (aka cold) by any definition, unless you happen to live in the Arctic. I have lived through through days of -50 Celsius here, so don’t go questioning my understanding of cold!

The romance of snowy days fades quite quickly after a few weeks of trudging through jagged-edged drifts hard-packed by passing snowmobiles – on what were once (in sunnier days) known as “sidewalks”. But I do still experience a sense of joy in tasting the first few flakes of icy wetness, or noting, as I glance down on a cold, sunny day, all the tiny sparks of light glinting on the ground ahead of me. And today, I saw a grin on my 9-month-old daughter’s face, even though she was sitting in her car seat on the snowy driveway, on a -11 day. She was born on a late February day, in this chill-swept province, and she has come through a winter, through summer and autumn, a bit of winter and then a brief, glorious period of Indian summer. And now here she is on the other side of that, with a smile on her sweet little face, just below her red-tipped button nose. I can wish to be lying on the white sands of a Caribbean beach, or taking a siesta in Mexico, but for Sara, this is life as she knows it – and it’s my life too, right now.

So I’m going to try, this year, to pay more attention to what’s around me – to the evergreens and snow-covered bedrock in an uncleared stretch of forest across the street from my house, to how adorable my daughter looks bundled up in her purple jacket and her Saskatchewan Roughriders blanket, to the vast, gorgeous frozen lake I see every day (if I look!) when driving through downtown, and to the gloves I tend to forget at home and the cupboard full of tea and coffee and hot chocolate that I can brew when needed. But I’d still take a plane ticket to Cancun, if anyone’s offering!

I am making a commitment to myself this year to chronicle my Christmas.

This is a remarkable season – filled with mystery, poignancy, history and traditions, expectations both met and unmet (whether you were awaiting the latest electronic gadget), pain and joy. It is a season in which much is magnified, in which the insignificant becomes significant – and sometimes that’s the trauma of what’s to be done with the turkey leftovers or why cousin so-and-so failed to send a card this year, and sometimes it’s shepherds staring open-mouthed at a night sky recently vacated by angels, and a baby born to a peasant girl in an obscure town who would become the Savior of the world.

What I want to record is both my day-to-day experiences over the next month, and reflections on the bigger picture – memories of past Christmases, my feelings and impressions, and what matters to me about this season.

I already know that this year will be different in two major ways: this is my baby girl’s first Christmas, and because of my sister-in-law Pauline’s at-risk pregnancy and the need for my mom and dad to fly out to B.C., it is also the first in 15 years that I won’t be with either my parents or my brother on Christmas Eve or Christmas Day. There is also a good chance that this will be the last December that we are living in La Ronge, Saskatchewan – the small northern town where Bryan and I have spent the first 12 years of our marriage.

I want to make this season very special, and I know that even in committing to that, I run the risk of disappointing myself. But Christmas is not about perfection – it’s about anticipation, commemoration, and ultimately, a baby. I have my own miracle child to celebrate with this year, and I think that will make delighting in the birth of our Savior – and all the festive trappings that have built up over the centuries, and point to (and sometimes, unfortunately, obscure) the “reason for the season – special in and of itself. My mantra this year is, “Keep Calm and Merry On”!

So – on to Christmas!

This is the irrational season
When love blooms bright and wild.
Had Mary been filled with reason,
There’d have been no room for the child.
- Madeline L’Engle

I will honour Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year. I will live in the Past, the Present, and the Future. The Spirits of all Three shall strive within me. I will not shut out the lessons that they teach.
- Charles Dickens