Setting:

Early morning.

The Elves on the Shelves – there are two of them – have come to Auntie Awesome Lisa’s* country (yes, I have a country). They’ve managed to find their kids – my Practice Grandkids – every year, during a special Christmas season weekend, since said kids were old enough to have Elves assigned to perform espionage on them.

This year, the Elves arrived in style. Their hot pink convertible was found empty, parked pecariously by the side of a wing chair. A quick scan of the room found the elves hiding in plain sight, blending in with my collection of ‘Scary People’. This ‘crowd’ of Byers Choice Christmas carolers, with their mouths frozen in permanent ‘O’s, have unnerved my children for nearly thirty years. In fact, this may be the biggest contributing factor to the carolers’ appeal (it is).

Annie, age not-quite-14 months, clapped when we all found the Elves attempting to hide amidst the revelers. I don’t know if she was actually excited to find the Elves, or excited because we were excited to find the Elves. Either way, we clapped along with her because it felt appropriate. Then we stole the Elves’ car.

All that led to the quiet scene above, which is one of my favorite memories from a past weekend.

My Practice Grandkids (PGs), who have come each year to create this tradition, are the Big Kids now. They are the ones leading and guiding and, yes, magic-making.

It is crazy that we still manage to do this.

The PGs are now at the age when the combination of school, activities, sports… all the stuff... becomes a never-ending, edge-of-your-seat logistical gymnastics. I say this because I remember it, and it was nuts even though we purposefully engaged in far fewer activities/teams/etc. than many of our peers back then. And once you add careers, family, adult friends, and any fitness and/or hobby and/or volunteer stuff to the mix… well… holy smackonli!

And, yet, still they all tumbled into their car – with their giant white fluffy dog (named ‘Phil’) – and drove the four hours to get here.

Mac and Jack and Annie came too (Annie intimated that she was bound and restrained in her carseat for more than four hours , but there are reasons to suspect otherwise).

And we did the things we do on our ‘Oh My Gosh, Santa’s Coming Weekend’.

We visited the Coastal Maine Botanical Gardens to experience Gardens Aglow (750,000 lights this year AND giant trolls AND warm blueberry cobbler and kettle corn and hot chocolate and… (oh it was good!).

We watched Christmas movies (some good… some… not so much (which is often even better!)).

We were right there, downtown Boothbay Harbor, when Santa arrived by boat with Mrs. Claus, Olaf the Snowman, the Christmas Tree Lady (she was, as always, gorgeous), and even Buddy The Elf (who was very tall in person).

We sat on Santa’s lap (well, I didn’t but the kids did).

We made tartines** (which has become a ‘must do’ tradition on the griddle).

We snowed on the village.

We also clapped a lot, and tilted our heads from side to side a lot, and played peek-a-boo a lot, and barked a lot (‘oof’ is Annie’s barking sound of choice).

There were other things we did, I’m sure. These memories, amongst the others, will come back in flashes over the days and years. That’s how this stuff works.

And I take… approximately… none of it for granted.

Over the years, both on the blog and off, I’ve heard from and talked to folks who attribute my ‘Christmas spirit’ – or at least the ease in which it seems to overtake me – to my somewhat enthusiastic (ahem) decorating of the old house at the start of the season, or to living in New England (we take Christmas pretty seriously here (probably has something to do with cold and snow)), to the family and friends who dance their way into the Christmastime stories and memories, and/or the events and happenings we create or take part in.

But that isn’t it.

It not a chicken and egg thing; which comes first, the decorations, the lights, Mariah Carey, or the spirit?

Nah.

I know which comes first.

You know words five, six, seven, eight, nine, and ten from Silent Night?

Don’t worry about counting on your fingers, I’ve got ’em right here:

All is calm, all is bright.

That’s the spirit I tuck into my pocket before the holidays show up. It’s not a mantra, something I repeat to myself while I rock back and forth when the house is a mess and I forget the rolls in the oven for the bazillionth time and we’re late and kids are cranky and the line for Santa is long and and and and (bzzzzzzzzzPOP!)

Nope.

Those words are a reminder that it’s there – the calm, the bright.

And I don’t have to do much to tap into it… just see.

It’s the gentle noticing and celebration of life’s magic, the quiet acknowledgment of the bright spots that have been, and are, and will be.

Any twinkle lights I hang, or scones baked on Christmas morning?

Extras.

For so many, this time of year is a celebration of the glory of God. For me (a lapsed Catholic who still wells up to a great rendition of O Holy Night (and don’t get me started about Linus explaining the the true meaning of Christmas to Charlie Brown (“Lights please”)))… for me Christmastime is a nod to life’s good stuff (and my intention to contribute to it).

My own Christmas seasons haven’t always arrived without fear, or drama.

Nor have they come without pain, or grief.

Some Christmases, those words in my pocket – all is calm, all is bright – have been rubbed raw with hope, and nearly strangled in search of faith and gratitude…

When I was a mother who spent one Decorating Day* at her son’s bedside in the Intensive Care Unit, as doctors administered the medicine that might or might not wake him up from a medically induced coma…

When I was a daughter who lived through her first Christmas without her mother earlier than most (younger than I am now). And that same Christmas was also the first without my sister… who coincidentally, and tragically, collapsed the day after her (our) mother died, and was taken off life support a week later… 

When I was a mother to a daughter who so desperately wanted a child of her own, living through Christmases celebrating other new moms, not knowing if it would ever happen for her. 

When I was a child myself, in dark places (with few lights).

These words are in my pocket, still, as I miss the Old Yankee Man and Granny like crazy, especially during this time of year.

All is calm, all is bright.

I am here. 

I am grateful for all the love I have ever felt.

I am humbled by all the lessons I have ever learned.

I will make space to notice each smile, each laugh, each kindness.

I will pay all this and more forward, where and when I can.

The lights and decorations… certain Christmas songs… the fact that so many people are a little bit more friendly, a little more connected, during the holidays… these are not the cues or pressure to feel a certain way.

They are the gift wrap.

All is calm, all is bright.

It is about finding the bright spots, the meaning, whether in the quiet or the madness. A reminder I have ways to be, things to do…

Which makes Christmastime a wonder-filled and gentle landing, before a brand new year.

Thanks for readin’.

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*That’s me – Auntie Awesome Lisa. It was supposed to be Awesome Auntie Lisa, but the kids got it wrong and never corrected it. Also, I do have my own country. One year, a very young Practice Grandkid asked, upon begin buckled into his carseat, if they were going to Auntie Awesome Lisa’s country (we assumed that the long ride equalled disembarking in a whole new country (at least when you’re three)).

**Tartines (oh, tartines!).

A tartine is (sort of) a French open-faced sandwich. They can be sweet or savory, and they are heavy on the butter (hello, ‘French’?!). The ones we make might sound strange, but they are gobbled up by kids and adults – I’m talking loaves and loaves of bread when we have them for a meal. Here’s how we make them:

• Loaf (or loaves) of soft squishy white bread, not pre-sliced (so you can slide it yourself, thicker than usual)
• Very thinly sliced, very rare roast beef (not shaved, just as thin as they can slice it (and the rare matters!))
• Hellmann’s mayonnaise
• Sweet gherkin pickles (sliced thin… a heap of ’em)
• Good butter
• Flaky sea salt

Heat a griddle/fry pan and melt about a tablespoon (or more!) of butter. Take one slice of the bread and generously butter ONE side. Grill that buttered side until it is as toasted as you want it to be (we go for ‘medium’). Do not turn it over (one side is not toasted). When it’s done, place it grilled side up on a plate or board or tray (wherever you’re going to ‘assemble’ it). Spread a thin layer of Mao on the grilled side. Then top that with a thin layer of the roast beef (one thin slice works, just cover the bread). Then top that with some sliced gherkins (like, ten or 15). Then sprinkle a bit of flaky sea salt on top. That’s it! We slice the tartine in half, and then each half in half, to make four narrow slices (easy to pick up with your fingers)… and we put them out, then add to them over and over again (they disappear as fast as I can make them!)

*** Decorating Day is the day after Thanksgiving. It’s pretty much a National Dingle Holiday. Family ‘elves’ haul a heap of big containers (honestly, there might be thirty), filled with collected and beloved Christmas decorations, down from the top of the barn. They are staged in our ‘middle room’, emptied and returned to the barn over time. Also, there is food.