We ate candy canes and marzipan and chocolates; we watched the Balanchine Nutcracker and danced around the room. We made galette de rois and cut stars out of puff pastry for the magi to follow. We googled questions about the census in Bethlehem and Herod’s awful decree, and I tried not to think too much about the last one, but found myself enough in the heads of the parents whose children would be killed in search of this one they called the Messiah, and I found myself again in the heads of the parents of children running such similar routes today, away, away, away to protect their babes.
There are left over candy canes and marzipan, and maybe they’ll stick around till Candlemas, but probably I’ll pack them away today to stay till next year.
The light is blue and wintery, and as I watch Georgie learn to love food, to grasp and chew and suck all the flavor right out of the pork roast, I know that my hormones are changing– because of the food, because of the time, because of the light. It will make for a hard next few months, but we’ll emerge in late spring ready to observe the loss of that same babe just born in Bethlehem, and then to celebrate that bright awakening, brighter than even the one in the manger. And I’ll open my eyes, and my babies will be bigger, loving the things that I love, and the light will be brighter, too.
So just trudging through till then, with lots of little stars of brightness along the way, spotting through the grey.