Epiphany. The end of Christmas. It's time to begin the undecorating. Although many a Christmas tree already lies by the gutter, awaiting grinding into mulch, hours is still up, still decorated, still lighted.
In our eagerness for the arrival for Christmas — an eagerness that begins these days in October with store displays and Christmas-themed merchandise — we wear out Christmas' welcome by the time Dec. 25 arrives.
Properly celebrated, Christmas begins on Dec. 25, after four Sundays of Advent, as we prepare for the arrival of Christmas, and continues until Jan. 5, the 12th day of Christmas. Then comes Epiphany, celebrating the revelation and recognition of the Messiah. The word Epiphany comes from the Greek word meaning "reveal." Scripture for today celebrates the arrival of the magi, gentiles who would recognize the Christ child as the Jewish messiah.
We all have epiphanies, moments of sudden recognition or insight. These may be "Ah ha" moments or a classic "dope slap" when new insight banishes the former way of thinking.
On this festival of Epiphany, celebrate the recognition of Christ, as Simeon did, as "a light for the gentiles," and also celebrate all of our epiphany moments throughout our lives when we suddenly understand or recognize those things that should have been obvious before.
Today's epiphany for me is that I must begin taking down a month's worth of Christmas decorations and begin those other maintenance tasks that darkness and cold have prevented. The days are getting longer, slowly but surely, and the light grows stronger every day.
Showing posts with label decorating. Show all posts
Showing posts with label decorating. Show all posts
Tuesday, January 6, 2015
Friday, December 3, 2010
Christmas silently arrives in my home
It's December and all around the house, little decorations are sprouting like mushrooms after a spring rain. Only these are much more colorful than mushrooms. An elf in a red jacket and striped tights sits on the living room bookcase. A pair of angels are roosting on the mantel. Carved Santa statuettes are atop the TV cabinet. A picture of my dad days before his last Christmas, wearing a Santa cap and a red scarf at the nursing home, is on the end table. A spray of mistletoe hangs in the archway. The plain, everyday sofa pillows have been replaced by pillows with bright snow themes, evergreens and reds. A collage frame of photos from Christmases past has replaced the Currier and Ives print on the wall. A collection of Christmas-themed books lies on every table or trunk lid. A spray of greenery tops the bathroom mirror. A sleigh bell hangs from a doorknob. Christmas mugs have replaced the everyday kind as we drink our coffee in the morning. Christmas china sets the table.
The Great Decorating has begun, appearing almost magically as my wife scurries silently through the house, knickknacks in hand, looking for the right spot to plant her trove. Every room has something that says "Christmas." It's a two-week project, accomplished in stolen moments between dinner and bedtime or between awaking and heading to work. And this does not include the big project of erecting and decorating the Fraser fir in its corner spot.
For 11 months, give or take, these mementos have lain hibernating in a half-dozen plastic bins in the attic. The most obvious signs of the transformation of our house are those big bins sitting at the foot of the attic stairs waiting to be emptied or, having been refilled with all the nomenclature of the rest of the year, waiting to go back in the attic until Epiphany, when the undecorating will take place, and Christmas' symbols will go back into the bins and back into the attic.
For the next few weeks, our house will hum with the look of a 1950s department store window — Christmas everywhere you look. Christmas music, both sacred and secular from a collection of hundreds of songs, will waft from the stereo speakers. The smell of wassail and evergreen boughs will warm the house against the winter chill. Lights from windows, trees and railings will fight against the lengthening darkness.
My wife does this not so much for the two of us, the only occupants of this Winter Wonderland, but for the children and grandchildren who will spend little time here, if any at all, and for the neighbors and friends we invite to share our holiday excitement for a few hours on one dark night. It is a tactic for opposing the gloom of darkest winter, the lack of solar warmth and the drabness of a landscape without the bright leaves and flowers that cheer us the rest of the year. If the outdoors have turned dark and colorless, she will make the indoors as bright and colorful as she possibly can.
Christmas has come to my home, and I hope to yours as well.
The Great Decorating has begun, appearing almost magically as my wife scurries silently through the house, knickknacks in hand, looking for the right spot to plant her trove. Every room has something that says "Christmas." It's a two-week project, accomplished in stolen moments between dinner and bedtime or between awaking and heading to work. And this does not include the big project of erecting and decorating the Fraser fir in its corner spot.
For 11 months, give or take, these mementos have lain hibernating in a half-dozen plastic bins in the attic. The most obvious signs of the transformation of our house are those big bins sitting at the foot of the attic stairs waiting to be emptied or, having been refilled with all the nomenclature of the rest of the year, waiting to go back in the attic until Epiphany, when the undecorating will take place, and Christmas' symbols will go back into the bins and back into the attic.
For the next few weeks, our house will hum with the look of a 1950s department store window — Christmas everywhere you look. Christmas music, both sacred and secular from a collection of hundreds of songs, will waft from the stereo speakers. The smell of wassail and evergreen boughs will warm the house against the winter chill. Lights from windows, trees and railings will fight against the lengthening darkness.
My wife does this not so much for the two of us, the only occupants of this Winter Wonderland, but for the children and grandchildren who will spend little time here, if any at all, and for the neighbors and friends we invite to share our holiday excitement for a few hours on one dark night. It is a tactic for opposing the gloom of darkest winter, the lack of solar warmth and the drabness of a landscape without the bright leaves and flowers that cheer us the rest of the year. If the outdoors have turned dark and colorless, she will make the indoors as bright and colorful as she possibly can.
Christmas has come to my home, and I hope to yours as well.
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