Christmases of very long ago, when my parents were just barely out of childhood themselves and we went to my Sicilian grandparents’ house in Larchmont.  And there was good cheer, Grandma shouting, “Whoopee, Whoopee!” after a few sips of wine before she disappeared into the kitchen to bring out a sumptuous, Italian meal with foods I no longer eat– bracciole and the ever familiar spaghetti with meatballs.  My Grandmother’s meatballs tasted like no others and as many times as my mother asked for the recipe, each time the recipe changed.  We children had teeny glasses of wine mixed with water.  And after the meal, while the womenfolk were cleaning up in the kitchen, the men sat in the living room on the sofa, hands folded over their stomachs, dozing.  Then out came the mandolin when Grandpa woke up and there were festive Italian songs to dance to.

Now Christmases are very quiet.  My life with my husband is very contemplative.  No more hoopla. No more meatballs or bracciole. No more wine. No more visting with the few relatives still with us. Old friends are mostly gone. A very few of the most precious ones are left, one or two new friends and a couple of lovely neighbors are in our hearts. But I am deeply grateful for the best friend of my life, my husband. Retirement has knit us closer than ever. We do not want hoopla and festivities. Just some music, our little, trusty tree and heart ornaments I bought with my school bestie (long gone) over 50 years ago. Now my husband is the light of my life. He brings the spirit of Christmas to my heart every day. We are grateful to wake up to each other every morning and pain over the thought of the inevitable loss of the other. Life is poignant, precious. Christmas always brought tears. Fears. Underneath all the celebration, even as a child I always felt the vibration of life… and the mystery and nearness of death. Now only more so. Hoopla only goes so far. SPIRIT is underneath all.

A happy Christmas, Kwanzaa, Hanukkah, Diwali to you all and to all a good life!