It's dark and raining, and the wind is sounding the usually-silent gong wind chime. The house is quiet in the way that only settles in when everyone else is asleep. It's not insomnia keeping me awake. It's a holiday-induced restlessness. Too many activities, and at the same time, not much work. 

And yet...

The scent of roasted meat, buttery bread, fresh fried fish and citrus lingers after two days of feasting. That was a lot of work. I started to think, 'but that's not lasting work, not like writing,' but that's wrong. We have memories from that home cooking, and from sitting around the table with loved ones that we never see enough. Those memories last in our hearts and minds longer than any story I've written. Even if they didn't, the effort behind holiday celebrations are worth it. They're life-affirming.

When I was a child the aftermath of Christmas was like the warm glow of a mature fire. I still get that feeling sometimes, but it doesn't linger for days anymore. My father died on Christmas Day, just a few days after I married. And, like other winters prior, sad things weigh on me this year too. 

Don't worry. Christmas isn't ruined. 

I personally observe Yule, but celebrate throughout the season with family, embracing each feast and gathering as they come. I don't have to brace myself for the holidays. Grief doesn't shadow me. At the same time it's a serious time of year. We celebrate life and birth and the hope of what may come, while appreciating that life doesn't last. We light up the house and the garden, but the cold and darkness is all around. We hold each other close. We welcome guests with smiles, and give gifts, and say I love you, and it matters so much, maybe matters more right now because of the wind and rain and darkness, because life is short, because there is suffering and cold and the waiting to see if life or death will prevail.

When I was a child all I saw was the light, and I was embraced by warmth and love. Now those lights, and the warmth and love feel fragile. It's all beautiful, so precious, no longer taken for granted. Now I light the lights, cook the food, invite people, find or make and then wrap gifts, make sure the house is warm. I make, as much as possible, a place of love and safety, a little shelter while the awe-inspiring winter roars outside. When I was a child, Christmas was powerful. As an older adult, I'm aware that without work, there might not be a celebration. Sometimes those celebrations are small, subdued, and laced with pain. But they're worth creating, like so many human endeavors, especially if they're created with love.

Time to rest. Tomorrow, there's more work to be done.