What Matters

60: (December 2022)

Release: When everything you’d planned didn’t happen the way you expected. Bad weather. Canceled and delayed flights. No rental cars. More guests than beds. Holiday menus no longer relevant because everything that was scheduled has been turned upside down. Release your grip on whatever you thought should be or would be, and go with what is. Viral bug that latched onto me, debilitating me, rendering me into a sleepless, hacking mess. What is your body telling you? Rest! There comes a time when it truly is the best choice. The floor might need to be vacuumed. The kitchen won’t be tidy. The house will generally be a mess. Release the urge to control things.

Cherish: Grown children, their spouses, and grandchildren who have flown in from four different places around the globe to be together for the holidays. Lots of chaos, lots of laughter. Little bodies running around the house at top speed, feet clad in teddy bear slippers. Excited toddlers zipped in and out of snowsuits throughout the day, needing help with boots and socks and mittens. Joyful, spontaneous music sessions made with toy drums, tambourines, maracas, grandparents, and children. Christmas carols around the piano with family, age range 9 months to 95 years. Conversations of all sorts. Meals cooked and shared, kitchen overrun; no one starves. Hugging and snuggling the youngest among us who smiles like an angel almost all of the time. The sound of a spinning wheel going round and round as my daughter spins wool from local sheep into lovely homespun yarn. A short blackout at dinnertime, whereby our four-year-old grandchild shouts, “Is everyone thinking what I’m thinking?” and then proceeds to light up the dining table by making her stuffed Santa Claus’s battery-operated nose light up!

Release everything else; cherish the time together. The meals may not be gourmet. You may not keep up with the house. You may have gotten a nasty bug that taxed your energy. You may be writing your last blog post of the year on the last day of the year because you’ve been too sick and busy to do it ahead of time.

Hold onto what matters. Release the rest.

Happy New Year!

40: (December 2002)

This year, I decided the girls and I would cut down our own Christmas tree at a friend’s tree farm. The sun glistened on the morning’s offering of snow, as we headed out for the tree on a beautiful New England afternoon.

The driveway to the tree farm was long. Very long. It wove through the woods for a while and then plunged. I froze behind the wheel at the sight of the narrow lane ahead, slick and icy, like a black-diamond ski slope. I tried to move forward slowly, but when my wheels skidded and the car slid sideways, I aborted the effort. The girls and I abandoned the car and walked down the steep, twisting incline. This was turning out to be more of an adventure than I had anticipated!

We finally emerged from the woods to an idyllic scene. A massive oak framed a well-kept historic home nestled next to a huge, classic barn, with big, open fields out front and hills of snow-frosted Christmas trees behind. My friend came out from the house and greeted us. Her father was already driving his truck up the hill by another route to rescue my car. His granddaughter grabbed a saw and took us out to the hills of Christmas trees. We laughed as I struggled to get the handsaw into the chosen tree’s trunk. I found out that it takes a bit of muscle and grace to maneuver on the snowy ground under the branches of a Christmas tree; the granddaughter definitely had it, and I did not!

As we dragged the tree across the snow toward the house, the grandfather pulled up in my car. I thought it was a miracle that he had made it down the hill, but this no-nonsense man took it in stride. He helped lash the tree to the roof, making gentle jokes with his daughter and granddaughter and telling stories. His hands were strong and tough; no gloves for him on this cold day, as he expertly tied the twine. We walked to the barn to meet his dogs, and he told us, with a bit of detectable pride, how the barn housed one of the best brown bat families around.

Old-time New Englanders are known for their ability to get things done, are not easily flustered, and know how to deal with the elements, one on one. Maybe I will grow into it. At this point, icy roads bring me to my knees every time. As we pulled away, the girls suggested that next year we ride the horses to the tree farm. I think I will have to work up to that, too.

I feel privileged to live in a place where such a farm and such people exist, where simple beauty is appreciated, nature is preserved, and where bats are treasured. I have lived here just over a decade, so I think I qualify only as a visitor, but give me some time. In the meanwhile, I’m in good company.

60-40:

I have been living in this little New Hampshire town for 30 years now; does that finally qualify me as an old-timer? I wonder if I can call myself a New Englander instead of the New Yorker who has transplanted herself up north. With each passing year, I have only grown in appreciation of this beautiful part of the world, with its snow and trees and dark skies.

There is so much strife in the world, but there is also beauty afoot and people to love. Hang onto the things that matter, and let the rest drift away.