45 Minutes on the Ice

Since the day after Thanksgiving, my mind has been a restless mess. It’s garbled up with words, plans, lists and ideas. And, I’m unable to settle anywhere, easily distracted, ungrounded and unfocused. I’ve started writing several blogs which I can’t seem to complete and get out of draft form. They sit “in the corner” to be picked on and prodded occasionally, only to be saved and abandoned again. I’m not sleeping great, between the stuffy head and the to do list dancing around my mind like sugarplums.

It’s Christmas. That most Wonderful time of the year.

I look forward to this time.  I really do. The traditions and celebrations. The lights around town. I love decorating my home and turning the tree on every morning to enjoy as I sip my coffee and prepare for the day.  I enjoy the music and Christmas playlist on my iPhone. But, over the past several years, I’ve noticed a trend toward more stress and less sleep than I recall from my younger days. I’m quicker to escalate and become emotional at this time of year.

Sparkly snow outside my window sets just the right mood. Candles are lit … the tree as well. But still, my mind races and both focusing and relaxing becomes harder.

I’m an organized person. (Okay those of you who know me, you can stop laughing.) I’ll own that, yes, I’m the Type AA organized one. So Christmas should be my time to shine. But I’m frazzled at this time of year as I seek to create the Magic that seems harder to harness than it used to be. The lists that I write don’t calm me like they usually do … nor do the morning meditations and additional time I spend on Bible study and prayerfully focusing on my faith and the reason behind this season.

I forget things. I lose things … well, I misplace them and cannot recall the logical location in which I decided to place them. I wake earlier, the skies still dark. My cat seems to feel the same way. Her normal wake up time parallels mine.

There’s just something in the air that unhooks the tethers of my spirit and I long for something miraculous to take me away from it all … or at least to help me settle me a bit so I can relax.

Strangely, I’ve found something that focuses my mind, my spirit and my heart too.

Several years ago, some friends invited us to join them for a holiday ice-skating outing. In theory, that sounds great, right? Yeah sure. And of course I said yes. But the reality that I hadn’t worn a pair of ice skates since I lived in Valparaiso and went out to Lakewood Park with my dad set in quickly and I was pretty nervous as I stepped out onto the ice.

Amazingly, I didn’t fall. In fact, I made it around the Campus Martius Rink many a time, amidst faster and shorter skaters zipping in and around me. And I couldn’t help but grin the whole time.

At the end of the outing, my ankle rocked a giant and very bloody blister. I’d felt it coming on but was too stubborn — and having too much fun — to stop and get off the ice.

Flash forward a year to another trip to the Campus Martius skating rink and another bloody blister. Admittingly, I have a high tolerance for pain and difficulty ending an activity when it’s bringing me joy — even when it hurts. So, the next Christmas, my family decided it was time to give me a beautiful, sparkly white pair of ladies’ ice skates.

At the beginning of December this year, I decided it was time to get them out and use them. I was looking for something different to do on my day off. And there is a nearby indoor rink with hours set-aside for public skating. I figured on a weekday there would be fewer skaters to navigate around, giving me time to practice and get my rhythm. So, I grabbed my skates and set out for the rink.

When I walked into the arena, there was no one else there. I mean … No one on the ice. I was completely alone. The only sound was the drone of the generator. Stunned at the silence, I put on my skates and headed for the entrance.

Okay, honesty here … every time I step out on the ice, I feel a stab of fear. Fear that I’ll fall. Fear that I’ll get hurt. Fear that I can’t do this. Fear that I can’t handle this. It’s an almost debilitating instinctual response that almost stops me.

The key is … almost. So, I stepped out on the ice and began, tentatively, to skate around the rink. Now, when I skate, I have to focus completely. One step, glide … next step, glide. Just me and the crisp sound of my blades cutting through the crystal sheen beneath me. I can’t even listen to music. I just skate. I don’t stay too long, about 45 minutes or so. And it’s transforming.

When skating, I cannot make a list or plan or worry or think about anything but skating. I breathe and focus on the step and glide only. I am completely present in the current moment. Not thinking about the past or any drama, not worrying about getting things done or what lies ahead. When I skate, there is no restlessness and no distraction. I find 45 minutes of peace.

On the ice, my mind is quiet. I can’t stay long. It’s a big rink and my legs get tired. But each week this December, I met my fear head on and stepped out on the ice, rewarded with a quiet mind as well as a feeling of accomplishment. It’s beautiful on the ice. I’m not trying to be Dorothy Hamill … just enjoying the ice time.

What do you need to focus your spirit? A long walk? A yoga class? A cup of coffee amidst a busy Starbucks? Quiet? Sound? People? Solitude? Activity? Knitting needles and yarn? Painting? Redecorating a room? A jog on a starry evening? Music? Whatever it is, take time for it. Find your peace your way …

Maybe I’ll see you on the ice …

— Jenni

The Ghost of Christmas Past

I get sentimental at Christmas …

One of my favorite moments in December is the annual trip to visit Santa. This most magical of times includes getting up early, donning festive Christmas attire, and stopping at Starbucks before the meet and greet with the big guy. In most cases, we were his first visit of the day. Inspired and more than a little emotional afterward, I’d follow-up the visit with an annual Christmas email and attach the picture. I have many photographs and fond memories of this annual outing.

An outing which — after 18 years — has officially run its course.

It was a good run. After originally terminating his attendance in 7th grade, my son Jarod re-upped, joining my daughter Paige and me these past three years. Not sure if his return was due to the fact that he knew how much this visit meant to me or that I bought him Starbucks when he came along. At any rate,  both my kids honored this tradition.  But this year, Jarod is away at college. And Paige, now in 7th Grade, finds the idea of a photo with Santa “embarrassing.”

I knew this was coming.

Endings and changes at Christmas seem harder than other times of the year. Why is that? Emotions are heightened. I get sentimental. Okay, I get emotional. My moods run the spectrum. The marketing hype says its “the most wonderful time of the year” but let’s be real here. December is also a dark month filled with hectic hours, sleepless nights and too much to do. Loneliness and a sense of disconnect are more profound than that elusive Christmas Spirit I hear so much about.

And the Ghost of Christmas Past haunts my memories.

Once upon a time in 7th grade, I actually played the Ghost of Christmas Past at TJ Junior High — a role I’m excited to say my daughter will take on in her 7th Grade ELA class this year!

Oops. I digress …

Scrooge+with+Christmas+Past+Ghost+copyAnyway,. I wore all white (along with a little red riding hood cape from an old Halloween costume of mine) and a sprig of holly on my silver-sprayed hair. My job in the play was to remind Ebeneezer Scrooge of days gone by that had shaped him into the man he had become.  To remind him not so gently about memories he had packed away into his mind palace and stored out of sight in a dusty attic. To show him shadows of times past. See Scrooge was met not only with painful memories but with joyful ones too — memories of the love of his sister, falling love in Belle, and of a kick butt Christmas party at Fezziwig’s place.

But he shut those out allowing loss and darker memories to hold sway over him and eventually turn him bitter and shut him off from humankind.

At this “festive” time of the year, Ghosts abound, bringing memories of Christmases past and people, places, celebrations and traditions of times gone by. Some we recall fondly. Some — along with the people that helped handcraft them — are lost to time and distance. Some self-destructed with a wrecking ball.  But these situations, people and memories shaped us, changed us and they continue to affect us. Yet, like Ebeneezer Scrooge, it’s very easy during the dark hours of this month to focus on the difficult times … to lose sight of the party at Fezziwigs and dwell instead on struggles, disappointments, losses, and feelings of loneliness.

The Ghost of Christmas Past haunts me in December. The light she shines into the dark meager corners of my own life creates movie-like vignettes of holidays past and people I shared them with. Like Scrooge, these shadows recall to my mind elegant moments of great joy as well as ones tinged — or drenched — with sadness. The past shaped me into the woman I am today, sparkles and scars. And with all the cold and darkness of December, it can be too much at times.

Sometimes, like Scrooge, I choose to disconnect. Time alone is necessary for me. I’m wired that way. I need a Silent Night. Other times, I need people … friends to laugh with and share joy … friends to remind me that I’m not alone, that they care, that I have value and bring something into their lives too. In fact, this year, a friend had planned a Girls Night event that I almost missed. By choice, I have to admit. I wasn’t sure that I wanted to be around people. My moods have been so erratic. Retreating and avoiding seemed like the best course.

Perhaps it was the text she sent … perhaps it was the one from my friend Cheryl. Anyway, I went, luckily. And what a great Fezziwig memory that will be for the Ghost to bring along in future years … Salted Caramel Martini, fizzy pink champagne and lots of laughter. Of course, I’m still ticked at Angie for stealing my ornament … but wait, Cheryl stole from me first. Anyway, it’s not always easy to predict what moments will truly raise you up until you allow others to reach out and draw you in.

But there are days during this most fricking wonderful time of the year that sometimes just suck. The Ghost sheds light on memories that stir up emotions and the next moment I’m crying over a bunch of peanut butter blossom batter because I miss my kid and then I’m blubbering at church when they play It Came Upon a Midnight Clear which always makes me miss my Granddaddy Carmichael who sang it better than anyone I know.

The Ghost of Christmas Past dredges up emotion. And I’m volatile and passionate, so I have highs and lows every December. But … I honor my nostalgic sentimentality. So when I wake up repeatedly at 5:10 a.m. and can’t go back to sleep, or difficult vignettes arise to replay their scenes in my head and I get lonely, I let go of the ones that no longer serve me. I get up and play with my cat under the tree, enjoying silence and sparkly white lights against morning darkness. I play music that brings me joy or turn to a photo of my niece singing which fills me with delight. Then, I gently think about people who’ve touched my heart and life — no matter if they are gone away. And I vow to connect with those who truly matter in days to come.

The Ghost of Christmas Past will always remind me of the many trips to see Santa … of baking with Jarod and singing with Granddaddy. Of laughter with friends and decorating the tree with my family. Of a skating outing to Campus Martius. Of parties, concerts, caroling around the piano and everything that gives Christmas meaning. Nothing can take those memories from me. And, when it comes to other difficult moments from my past, I can choose to look at the scenes with compassion and kindness. Then, I can let go of bitterness to embrace the Hope that Christmas Present is offering, make time to spend with a friend, and release painful moments, regrets, faded dreams and old wishes.

Ebeneezer Scrooge allowed his past to create bitterness in his heart. And that bitterness disconnected him with his fellow man. There’s a lot going on in December. And it’s very easy to follow his path.

Don’t. Reach out and connect … There’s always a glass of wine — or cup of coffee — and a fresh batch of cookies at my house if you need a safe haven.

But if you need a peaceful, silent night instead, choose to remember Fezziwig’s party over all the Drama from your past.

It was a damn good time.

God Bless Us, Every One.

                                                                                                                    — Jenni

Knick Knacks & Wood

The Christmas season begins for me on December 1st. Always has. On that day, my parents pulled out the Christmas with Conniff album and woke my brother and me with the dulcet 70s sounds of Jingle Bells and Here Comes Santa Claus. Without fail, that album delivered the first sounds of the season — an angelic host heralding the arrival of the Holidays.

The tradition continued when I went to college, my parents calling me at some ungodly hour to play Jingle Bells over the phone lines. And it continued into adulthood, my brother and I entering into a competition to see who could call the other first … There was one pre-6am call from him that I will never forget.

I have Christmas with Conniff on my iPhone now, and have provided CDs to my kids and both nieces so that the next generation can take the tradition into the future. And yesterday, my college son received three phone calls, mine the earliest, to wish him Happy December 1st. And yes, Christmas with Conniff continued its reign.

24232118_10156078070728746_2992581248180690404_nI answer the phone Happy December 1st. That’s the day the Holiday Magic begins for me. And yesterday, I awoke my family with Conniff and donned my Disney Princess Santa Hat, along with my holiday Joy sweater and festive pink tights, to greet the Christmas Season my way.

I like Tradition. And December 1st also became my chosen day of Decoration. Now, when I was at Albion, I awoke my Flatmate Nina with a decorated room. Easy. One room. When I moved out on my own after college, I decorated my apartment and tiny tree on December 1st, making that my tradition. Again, small space done easily. Now, a few years later, I have 7 boxes of decorations and a house of many rooms and three stories to decorate.

It’s fun, don’t get me wrong. I play music and really get into it. But, no matter if I pack the items away by floor, there’s never a formula. I have to dust as I decorate, putting items away as I pull others out. And it takes time and creativity. But the tradition continues … Happy December 1st …

Yesterday, though, I looked around afterward and felt underwhelmed. I don’t know if it was my mood or the work and fatigue of spending 5 hours on this very physical decorating project. Maybe it was the photos on Facebook of others’ homes and their Christmas style that seemed so glorious and festive. But, gazing around, I felt like I hadn’t done enough.

That’s a theme of this season, I’ve discovered. We race around trying to create the perfect Christmas experience. We seek to capture that elusive Christmas Spirit we know we once had but that seems harder to find. When we don’t feel we’ve created it, something seems … off.

So, when I looked at all the photos of homes with candles and greenery, fireplaces decorated with glass bulbs and light, I felt as though my decorations paled in comparison. They simply created clutter in an already cluttered up space. I had failed Christmas 101 and it was only December 1st. How would I create the Magic when I’d already missed the mark?

Okay, I don’t have a fireplace mantle. And my 7 boxes of decorations feature few candles and no greenery or glass bulbs. Instead, most of my decorations are handcrafted. Mr. Eckert, a dear family friend, made many of them. He carved beautiful wooden angels, nativity scenes, reindeer, wreaths, a puzzle piece Christmas tree and other seasonal favorites. Then there are the creations my kids made, including Christmas trees crafted from cloth hearts, styrofoam cup bells, tissue paper wreaths, and cut out gingerbread men made from sandpaper. I have a few festive Santas, a collection of Boyd’s Angels, a small Dickens village set up on the piano, and various cards with messages of meaning that I display in picture frames.

Yet, my home didn’t smell of pine and didn’t give off that golden glow. So, I felt a rush of failure. My Christmas looked messy and not at all like the Victorian Ideal I had in my mind.

But … the greatest gift of Christmas was Homemade. A baby. The truest gift of Christmas came out of Love that arrived not at some super-sanitized hospital ward but in a dirty, cluttered stable. The first Christmas was messy and involved Shepherds and starlight. So … maybe my Handcrafted Cluttered Christmas decor was in line with the messy birth of a baby a long time ago in a stable in Bethlehem. Imperfect look but full of an inner light and great love.

My Christmas decorations are items handcrafted with Love … wooden knick knacks and cross-stitch Angels, Santas and 12 Bears of Christmas, projects that took many hours to create and that are beautifully framed. And Nonnberg Abbey in the Dickens Village, along with so many Eckert creations, remind me of friends and family who touched my lives and retain a special place in my heart for always.

So then, I looked around again. Wooden Angels line my windows, my diffuser emits the beloved Young Living Christmas Spirit oil, and cross-stitched Christmas socks hang from nails on doorways. These are the works of Heart. My home was decorated with heart. And, when I let go of the ideal and stop seeking to create perfection … when I truly zone in and remember that Christmas was created to show the Love our Father holds for each of us, imperfect beings that we are …  If I can just remember not to seek the perfection of a Hallmark kind but instead reach out to others in Love …. well, perhaps I can finally capture that elusive Christmas Spirit and allow its healing light to Sparkle through my fingertips and touch others.

Christmas for me is created with Knick Knacks and Wood. But each piece tells a story … each decoration means something. Just like the many people who’ve played roles in the theatrical production of my life over the years. And yes, they will get dusty and yes, they do create clutter — people and things. But life is full of clutter, dust and distraction. It’s choosing to honor your own traditions and let go of an ideal of perfection that helps you find the Magic, the Love and the Light that sets this time of year apart.

Happy December 2nd …

                                                                                                     — Jenni