A finely furnished tree glows softly in the night as the fire place dims and plates are washed and stowed. Tomorrow, the radio will cease to play the jolly tunes of long-gone sleigh bells and half-eaten chestnuts. And Christmas will be over.
Rather than saying this begrudgingly, I observe this fact with more of a gentle nod than rolling eyes. Ironically, I like the quiet of the days spent on Christmas vacation after presents are opened, tailored outfits are worn and anticipation no longer hangs in the air. Perhaps they remind me of my retreat, of peacefulness and days where clocks don’t exist. On vacation, time seems to warp, contorting itself to the slow motion pace everyone secretly yearns for.
This is what I love about home, aside from the fridge stocked with food, the hibernation of alarm clocks. I love the old movies watched. The puzzles made. The talks at 2am in the family room. The truth is I love my home and my family. And that outweighs the fact that Christmas is over. What I do love about the holidays specifically are the traditions—mass, dressing up, singing carols, driving to see the lights, preparing our favorite recipes. But rather than mourn their end, I look forward to their return.
So as the decorations change, the lights go down, the music reverts and the Starbucks cups return to their dull white, I remain cheerful and content, sighing at another year ending and that of the one to come.