Hush, Hush, Somebody's Callin' My Name

By the time Christmas rolls around, will it be anti-climactic? Will it be just another day of "Ho,Ho,Ho" and Burl Ives singing "Have a Holly, Jolly Christmas?" Will I be so numbed by the rush of gift buying or parties or rehearsal/concerts that when December 25 comes, I will be empty?

It seems like I ask myself these questions each year. Part of it must be that our children are not here on Christmas morning, wide-eyed and excited, checking whether the carrots were nibbled by Santa's reindeer or the cookies half-eaten by the jolly old elf himself.

Joan and I used to put the tree up after church on Christmas Eve, after the children went to bed. Seeing the words "some assembly required" at 1:00am after the tree was decorated was not a welcome sight on a Big Wheel, or a bicycle. But what's another three hours without sleep when the effect on our two children was so amazing? (Alright, the slide whistles in the stockings that were opened at 6:00am were not a good idea and I got a little testy in my bleary-eyed state. Everything can't be Currier and Ives all the time.)

So, now the tree goes up early with Sounds of the Season from cable channel 436 in the background. The house and the lamp posts get decorated and our neighbors nicely bring over a cheesecake, and we talk. Joanie bakes her cranberry bread and I get out my "Noel" tie. Its all special but somehow, not heartfelt.

Maybe, I should build in some quiet time -- no computer, no radio, no books, no TV -- just quiet. The kind of quiet that comes during and after a deep snow. A quiet that allows one to listen -- to your own heartbeat, to the melting snow, to the cry of a baby in the distance... the cry of a baby, in the distance.