Things move a lot faster out there, for sure–except on this tiny street in Boston, where my oldest daughter, my husband and I took a happy if chilly stroll the Saturday after Thanksgiving. It’s on Beacon Hill, all bricks and cobblestones and skinny lacquered doors, the windowboxes brimming and the lamps casting a warm amber glow. Can you see the centuries of history drifting up and around us? Afterwards we went down to the Public Gardens and watched the skaters. Ice skating is one of those preposterous human activities that never fails to make me smile.
The whole weekend was like that, bits of personal happiness snatched midst the hurly burly of crazed traffic and woebegone shoppers and rising pressures of the holiday. When my kids were little, Christmas was such a huge responsibility. I was in charge of making The Magic happen, and by Christmas morning I could barely see straight (this became literal one year when I forgot to put my second contact lens in and wandered around all day certain something had gone very wrong with my brain).
Now the holidays are about hoping everyone can make it home, and trips to Trader Joe’s to lay in truffles, and making sure there’s wood for a fire. Most of the hoopla has fallen away, leaving us free to just enjoy each other–what a gift.
I also got some very good news over the long weekend, and hope to share it here soon….