The Between Days

Here we are again, poised at the heart of the liminal interlude bookended every year by the Winter Solstice and the shiny new year only a few days away. These winter days are a precious (and much needed) breathing spell between the two holidays, and I like to think of them as the "between days". 

It seems as though 2024 just got here, but we are bidding it farewell and considering 2025 with its unknown possibilities, adventures, trials and ordeals. A few gentle adventures next year, and fewer ordeals, please. No cancer surgeries, perishing furnaces, madly tilting garden sheds and crumbling chimneys. Enough already.

Holiday shopping (what little there was of it) was wrapped up and tucked under the little tree in good time this year. A thousand and one cookies were made, and fruitcakes, coffee beans, tins of baking and bottles of wine were delivered around the village. Gift bags, ribbons and wrapping paper have already been folded and put away for another time, and the silken rustle of the tissue as it was smoothed and pleated into neat squares was pleasing to the ear.

Now there is stillness in the little blue house, and after days of toing and froing, there is time for rest and reflection. Who knows what Beau and I will be doing on New Year's eve? Seasonal viruses are running amok in the village, and there is a possibility we will be home by ourselves, safely sequestered with wonderfully smelly candles, a wedge of fine old cheddar, a good book, tea, gingerbread and clementines.

I made a lovely big pot of Bigelow's Constant Comment tea this morning, and the kitchen was filled with the fragrance of oranges and sweet spice. Snow sparkled through the south facing window, and the kitchen was filled with silvery dancing light. As we leaned against the counter and waited for the kettle to sing, it seemed to Beau and I that the best part of the holidays is the clamor and bustle when the house is filled with loved ones, comfortable, together and happy to be here.

There was laughter and camaraderie in the kitchen, and around the old oak table in the dining room. Endless mugs of tea were poured and mountains of munchies were consumed. There was an eloquent silence in the darkened garden when everyone went home after our revels ended. Looking up at the moon, we (Beau and I) I thought of our departed companion, and we sent him our love. Blessed be.