The Happiest Christmas

A favorite Christmas album in our family is that of Michael W. Smith. It is filled with beautiful melodies and cheesy lyrics, just what a Christmas album should be. One of my favorite songs is the song "Happiest Christmas" which states that the happiest Christmas is a homecoming Christmas and tells us all about how a Christmas spent at home with the ones you love is the best Christmas of all. These lyrics rang quite true this Christmas.

My Grandma was with us for Christmas, which hasn't happened for about 12 years, and she made it all so perfect. Even though she is 82 years old, she still ran around with our crazy family to join in on all of the regular Christmas traditions. She even watched "The Bourne Ultimatum" with us on Christmas day and that is not something that every grandma would do. But the point is not that she dragged herself around with us, because she didn't. She was always full of smiles (or tears) and walking right in step with us as though she had been doing it for the past 12 years.

This Christmas was also the White Christmas that I have always dreamed of. The odds were against Seattle in the snow forecast and it seemed like this would be yet another year of snowless festivities. But I saw snow in those clouds and it eventually began to fall. No, we weren't snowed in, but it was enough snow to lightly cover the neighborhood in beautiful white blanket. So, I sat there with my cocoa listening to Bing sing his heart out and I could do nothing but smile. I thought that that would top off the whole day, but the joy continued to elevate.

Caught up in the beauty of the snow, I nearly forgot about the Christmas dinner that lay ahead of us. The men always cook the Christmas dinner and create one delicious feast for us. As we sat at the table, I had never felt so at ease. That was a very peaceful moment for me. Just sitting, watching and realizing that God has watched over this family for so many years to lead us to this very moment in time. To lead us to a moment of contentedness and happiness to simply be with each other.

There are so many words that could describe this Christmas: beautiful, joyous, delicious, wonderful. But the only word that could truly describe it all is "perfect".

"Someday Soon, We All Will Be Together"

Tonight was my last Christmas concert, and it was quite a lovely concert. I played in four different groups, which is significantly more than in the past. The music was beautiful. The audience was huge. My friends were close. And then I remembered it was my last Christmas concert with those close friends. Suddenly, the evening became still as I sat offstage listening to the band play "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas" and looking at my beautiful orchestra. This orchestra has been my life for the past four years and it is hard when I finally realize that the year is slowly ending.

Next year, I don't know where I'll be, but I know I won't be in high school. My mornings will no longer consist of a group of dorky kids who take AP classes and tell ridiculous jokes that only an orchestra kid could understand. I feel like I've been everywhere with the orchestra, and in a small sense, I have. We've been to Canada, to Oregon, to Vashon Island, and soon to California. We travel together and there's something about 6 hour bus rides that bring you together. These mornings and journeys have meant the world to me and I don't want them to end, but like everything, they will eventually come to a close. The memories will be there for eternity, but it's simply not the same as being in the moment.

So, although we've fought more than I would hope and we have done things that we now regret, the orchestra is perfect. It is full of laughter and more energy than I've ever seen. I will miss it so much, and I am so grateful that the world of orchestra is not yet at a close. And I will be back, yes, I will most definitely be back. Just like that wonderful song says, "Someday soon, we all will be together" and we will, I know we will. It is moments like tonight that will bring me back. Moments filled with love and emotion that you don't experience in just any group of friends. Only in orchestra (and perhaps a few others, but that's a whole other story).

45 and Raining

I checked the weather report, as I constantly do, for the slight possibility of snow, but as always, no such luck. It will be 45 and raining until next Tuesday at least, which is simply not ideal. I can't take my much procrastinated roll of film for photography in this weather. I can't make a snowman in this weather. Most of all, I will not have a white Christmas with this weather. This is Seattle and there are times when I just loathe the fact that I rarely see a snowflake in the sky, but somehow, the rain is not too bad.

The rain is familiar. It's been 45 and rainy in December for as long as I can remember, and I won't deny that I like it. This is the rain that makes Christmas in Seattle so different from the picture perfect, frosted windowed houses in the Christmas movies. Although I would like nothing more than to experience a White Christmas like my dear friend Bing Crosby sings about, the rain will suffice.

The rain is, in its own way, picturesque. The rain that falls steadily and runs down the windows during Christmas dinner is beautiful. And there is no better sound that can be made than that of rain beating against the roof. It's strange that these little drops of water can mean so much, but to me, they do. The rain has never let me down and it is always quite considerate. It holds off for the Christmas caroling on Christmas Eve and the evenings out to the Nutcracker and that is all I ask of it.

So even though the Christmas will be far from white, I don't mind. It feels like it's rained on Christmas for the past hundred years, so there's no reason that it should stop now. So, please let the rain fall and let us in Seattle accept it not with a wicked glare, but with a smile of appreciation for all that it means.

Two vs. One

It would seem that in any kind of race where the teams are two vs. one, the team of two would always win. The past few days, though, my grandma has proven that to be quite wrong. I am speaking here of knitting vs. crocheting. I prefer knitting, but she very much enjoys to crochet. As we sit on opposite ends of the couch and begin our projects, I envy her so much. She is making an entire baby blanket, yet I still struggle with a simple, one-colored scarf. To add another color would completely push me over the edge, but I watch her switch from color to color with no trouble at all. She has three rows finished, and I am still on the first one.

Of course, the point of this is not to say how jealous I am of my grandmother's crocheting skills, but to prove how patience comes with age. In her 80s, she has developed the patience that it requires to take on something huge, and I see that I have a very long way to go. I respect her very much for the fact that she can change colors with ease and crochet faster than anyone I know, not only because it is pure talent, but also because it causes me to have something to aspire to become.

To her, hitting 80 was hardly a landmark because she still acts like she's 40. I hope that I'm like that when I'm 80: an unstoppable woman who refuses to let a silly number like 80 slow her down. That is what the blanket she makes represents: her willingness to go on. Can you guess what that makes my scarf represent? My want to give up right then, but go on because I've already gotten so far.

I hate looking at life through such an analytical way, but once in a while I do. This time in the case of two needles vs. one needle and all that it can mean. So now everytime I pick up my two knitting needles, I think of Grandma and all that she is able to do with only one crochet hook, and I go on to the next color.

Baby, It's Cold Outside

Things have changed as I've gotten older, but something that has never changed is my reaction to snow. It doesn't matter if it's the first snow of the season or even three flakes, I always respond in the same way. I see the first flake fall outside my window and I watch. Sometimes I watch for an minute, sometimes for an hour. It is mesmerizing to watch the beautiful white flakes fall from the sky and desperatley hope that it iwll stick to the ground. Because when it sticks, that means that loads of fun are in store.

Snow that sticks means sledding and then coming in where mother has hot cocoa waiting for you when you come in with toes that you are convinced aren't even there because they are so cold. Snow that sticks means a constant smile on my face. It's always been that way and I know it will remain that way.

I am sitting here in front of a big window that gives me a perfect view of the snowfall of which I speak while listening to Christmas music, it's only fitting. It started as flakes smaller than an unopped piece of corn and it has now turned into millions of monstrous flakes falling at a steady pace. This is winter, this is what I love. It brings peace to me to watch those beautiful flakes fall from the sky and land in their respected places. It's one of the most beautiful things in the world and I never tire of watching it and watching the whole neighborhood deciding to take their dogs for a walk before this beautful show is over. Welcome winter, I look forward to what you have in store for me.