But did Christmas leave?
I imagine God enjoys a good belly laugh.
Over the past three weeks, I spent sixteen fabulous days on a cruise to Hawaii. Five days in port left eleven sea days to and from LA, more than we’ve ever had. That was a major attraction for my husband, but more of a concern for me. Being an introvert, I don’t enjoy sitting in public spaces watching— or worse— chatting with strangers and comparing cruise ships and lines and itineraries. It’s almost painful.
One sea-day morning when our balcony was misty and cool, I packed my backpack, and elevatored down to Deck 7 with my husband. He found empty chairs across from the art auction lounge and took out his reading material. I opened my MacBook and tried to write fiction. Not very successfully. I ended up with a poem.
Maybe I Should
An Asian man across from me
slumps on the
miniature sofa.
Bundled in his white
windbreaker, sunglasses darkening
and a ball cap hiding
his features, he grasps
a phone in his limp hand–
just in case?
Of what?
A gaggle of women
behind us chatter about
the worker on Deck 15
who braided
their long, long
hair. Seventy-eight
years’ worth;
the number of bedrooms
and baths
and the color
of the granite countertops
in the second homes
they have listed
on Rivercrest Drive;
the amount of money
they owed after
a double knee
replacement surgery
with their highly endorsed
Medicare supplement.
One woman has been aboard
for thirty-eight days.
Thirty-eight!
She knows the staff
by name.
Of course.
I try to focus, tune it all
out, blot out
their increasing volume,
as I write,
and each vies to share
their expertise
or inside knowledge.
Keep your head in
Reconstruction, I scold myself,
but their voices
rise and attack
the innocent air. Do they know?
Do they care?
Two leave and more appear.
I can tell by
their volume and pitch.
The topics change,
but the noise continues.
I lose hope
of concentrating.
Streams of people
wander past,
most amble, chatting,
some stroll, yawning,
a few march, seeking,
and several, all
in unknown languages.
But they don’t
alter his gaze.
Head level,
frozen, his shoulders
and chest barely
moving with each breath.
Beside me, he sits
staring forward,
sunk into a Modernist-
inspired chunky
upholstered chair.
His eyes are slightly watery,
unfocused,
his jaw unmoving.
His hands rest on his lap
covering his closed Kindle.
Has he been hypnotized,
he, who can rarely
ignore such
goingson?
“What’re you doing, Honey?”
His eyes slowly focus,
and he shifts
to face me.
“Relaxing.”
My eye narrows,
and my head
leans to the side.
How? I wonder.
He laughs.
“I know you don’t understand
that some people
can just sit and relax.
Do nothing.
Chill.”
“You’re right.
I don’t.”
Now, nine days later, in self-imposed exile to keep my asthmatic husband from catching this bug that’s settled in my lungs, I’m trying to chill.
It’s also not working so well.
Our Christmas celebrations have been postponed. I’ve watched all the old free Christmas movies that I can tolerate as I lie here in bed, coughing and hacking, shivering and burning up. I’ve seen more holiday baking contests than I can stomach. I’ve resorted to watching Hallmark-style Christmas movies, although I can’t recount the plot or characters of any of them, except for the updated Little Women.
I’ve nibbled seasoned pretzels brought by friends to our cookie exchange last week and slurped chicken noodle soup delivered to my room like a cabin steward would. I’ve tried to read, but my coughing jiggles the device too much to be worth the effort of holding it level.
I’ve gathered extra pillows and arranged them in perfect stacks under my head, so I can promote adequate drainage and minimal coughing as I watch television. But they always seem to teeter behind me and crawl across the bed, and then I slump and cough more.
I’ve texted my family, making tentative plans for the day that my nose doesn’t run, my cough doesn’t rumble, and my voice is intelligible again.
I’ve popped cough drops, guzzled water, and snoozed and snored between coughing jags.
And still with all this practice, I haven’t learned the basics of just chilling.
I’m bored, and frustrated, and tired. My mind wanders to the baking that didn’t get done, and the ingredients in the refrigerator for special dishes that weren’t prepared. Gifts that weren’t wrapped and a few that weren’t even bought. I’m afraid my mindset is turning a little Grinchy-green.
Yes, Christmas came yesterday, all the same, just as it did in Whoville.
“It came without ribbons! It came without tags!”
“It came without packages, boxes or bags!”
But did Christmas leave?
As I sit here tucked in bed, laptop on my knees and with the voices from a random Christmas movie on television in the background, I realize that maybe I’ve learned something more important than how to chill out.
I’m thinking that Christmas is just the announcement of God’s message of hope and love through Jesus’ birth. The real hope and love that matter are lived out in our actions every day.
I’ve seen that love and hope in deliveries of food and drink, in text messages from friends, in calls from family. In my mom’s reminder that being together is the most important part of a family Christmas celebration, even if it happens on July 25! And in sappy movies that touch our hearts.
So, I’ll lift a water bottle to learning and living Christmas every day – even when we’re not feeling our best. Here’s to being a patient patient. To being a grateful patient. To being a chill, not chilled, patient.
As Dickens wrote of Scrooge, may we all … know “how to keep Christmas well, if any man alive possess[es] the knowledge. May that be truly said of us, and all of us! And so, as Tiny Tim observed, God bless Us, Every One!
Here’s to being grateful for God’s love and hope and lessons every day of the year!
