Holidays and Houseguests

         My ex-father-in-law, long deceased, quipped, “I feel like the Army moved out.”  He had 5 children, all married; his oldest son had 6, and daughter had 2 who had 3 each.  You get the picture. Family from out of town visited and stayed a while over the Christmas holidays. Where are those ruby slippers?

          My situation is not at all like his, but I, too, feel like the Army moved out.  It’s marvelous to have family visit, have them with me for Christmas. The delight with houseguests is that they have homes of their own– their own adult abodes where they enjoy their own routines.  I'm sure they are in agreement: there's no place like home, your own. 

           I’ve become very comfortable in my routine, busy on my schedule.  Morning coffee (2 cups), newspaper, and Facebook to check on the comings and goings of people I care about.  If I’m industrious, I might start a load of laundry and think about what I’ll cook for supper. And, I’ll write something, perhaps just a paragraph, each day. All from my chair in the living room.  And suddenly, it’s 10AM.
           Heavenly Days, it’s the week of Christmas: D-Day and the invasion.  I’m excited, like a kid waiting for Christmas morning. I’ve thought about it and planned for it, dreamed of sugarplums and sighed over landscapes and snowy beauty.  The cars roll in, the Griswolds pile out and the fun begins. And continues. One batch goes home and another arrives.  My shoulders get higher and higher, closer and closer to my ears. I want it to be so perfect as if I'm expecting Norman Rockwell, smiling and painting the scene unfolding before him.
            We are not perfect, and neither are the holidays. Norman Rockwell's Americana series  captured one moment of time, the second before the turkey blew up.
            The holidays have passed into memory.  The artificial, pre-lit trees are boxed up and the ornaments have been wrapped and sorted into their nesting places.  We’ve enjoyed the last of the desserts and cookies, except for the cheese balls, a hidden stash, for later.
                    The houseguests have gone home and we resort again to weekly telephone calls, photos, short visits and Facebook to stay involved with each other’s lives.
                    When spring signals the arrival of budding trees and flowering shrubs, when there’s more sunshine than icicles, we’ll remember the special time we spent together during the holidays and, of course, plan to do it all over again.