Christmastime is a really strange time for me; the words don’t flow as freely as the cauldron of emotions bubbles away. Feelings of love and feelings of loss are stirred into the pot and it simmers. I try my best to taste as I go, to see if I got the recipe right; but sometimes it’s too salty or too hot and burns all the way down, sitting in the pit of my stomach in that one weak spot.
I love Christmas because it brings a lot of love and good times spent with family and friends. We overfill ourselves with food and drinks, laughter and good times; creating memories as we reminisce. I love having my friends come from lands far away and spending concentrated amounts of time together, just being ourselves, the happiness of being in one another’s company once again. I love spending time with my family that extends far and wide, soaking it all in; relishing in the similarities and differences of being kin.
I cherish those moments; the moments of living, of just being. For too often the cauldron blackens and once again there is one less place to set at the dinner table. This is my sadness, the kitchen drawers with too many knives forks and spoons. They should all be out on the table, being fought over and used. The pile lessens and the drawer makes a louder clattering when it’s pulled open and closed; interrupting, stirring the stillness of perfection.
My spoon scrapes the plate and it’s a bittersweet taste, it’s burnt. But I will sit and enjoy, defiantly; for it is food in my belly in the company of the living, of my family and friends. I am lucky to be immersed in such great presence and that is the only Christmas present I need.