Stop And Smell The Poinsettias

                                 Tiny tots with their eyes all aglow...

 

    In the past few years, I have set a pattern that seems to work for me in celebrating the season as I wish to do. I usually start my Christmas cards in November with personalized letters so that I can have them mailed by December 1st. I've learned over time that if I wait beyond that date, it just won't get done. I try to have my trees up and decorated by the first week in December. I was running late this year for that task, but just a few more ornaments to be hung and that is done. I want to finish ordering gifts today, I need to deliver some wreaths this week, and then next week is about truly relaxing and enjoying the holiday.

                                                My mother's wreath  

 When my mother died a few years ago, (too soon, but is there any good time for that?) I set aside some dates to take flowers to the cemetery: her birthday (which was also close to Mother's Day), the anniversary of her death, and then I got into the habit of making a wreath for the grave in December. My mother always made wreaths at Christmas, and I suppose, in part, this skill and task is an ongoing affirmation of what I learned from her.

I've been buying my Christmas trees from the same landscaper for a few years now, and this year his tiny son was helping and had his little spiel down in greeting the customers and guiding them to the trees. I started talking to the father, and he said he had been teaching his son how to work in the garden and take on adult tasks since he was five. I think the boy is about nine now. I told him that my mother had done the same with me. I distinctly remember her handing me sharp pruning shears to do edging work with grass with the admonishment "Don't cut yourself," as my guideline. The landscaper told me he had done the exact same thing with his son, and that it had been that way for him, as well. I'm not a parent, but I think it's important that children learn these responsibilities early on in preparation for what the world has ready to land on them down the road.

I was going to give the father a tip, and I added in some extra money for his son, and he said, "Please hand it directly to him. If it comes from me, he won't understand the meaning of it." I gave the little boy a five-dollar bill, and he stood there with the stretched out money in his hands and stared at it before putting it in his pocket. I just loved seeing him out there in the cold, working side by side with his Dad.

                                  My friend's wreath for her parents

This year my friend in Annapolis lost both of her parents. Her mother got up one morning in January, bathed, dressed, put on her makeup, made the bed, laid down on it and died. Just like that. It was a terrible shock to everyone, but it became a nightmare for her father who went into an immediate tailspin and decline. He never seemed to be able to recover from this horrible loss, and he died this summer. This isn't the first time I've heard of or seen this phenomenon. You will never convince me that people can't die of a broken heart. Her parents were buried just across the road from my mother's site, so I told her that this year I would make up another wreath for her and we would go out with my brother to leave these things for our parents.

                                                        My wreath

For me, this time of year is about traditions, as I am sure it is for a lot of people: which ornament is hung on the tree first, or always serving a certain food for a holiday feast, giving a party (which one of my friends does very well from his swinging bachelor pad), those special Starbuck's lattes, or seeing relatives from whom you may be geographically (or emotionally) removed. Try and honor your own traditions, and try not to get too frazzled during the coming weeks. Stop and smell the poinsettias.

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