("Make a Wish", added to my shop for a little holiday spirit.)
(to illuminate, to let.)
(sweet light, december.)
("I Wish for You", in the shop, a bit of cheer.)
(over my shoulder, shine.)
(special garland, by wren handmade.)
(bits & baubles.)
(so pretty in pink.)
(Italian sesame cookies, vanishing as I type.)
(pretty peace by YeeHaw Press.)
Hello dear friends. As promised, I'm back this week with a full surrender to all things wintery December. I suppose, in some ways, December is the sweetest of the winter months. The most full of emotion, of promise, of reflection, of a new horizon looming just out there on the very first days of January. I've had a turn of heart and I'm fully embracing the cold days, the Christmas shopping frenzy, the baking, the decorating, the general holiday making. Yes: December, I'm all yours, sorry I arrived a little bit later.
I find that the holidays bring up a slew of old and new emotions for just about anyone I meet. Do you find this to be true? It seems that somewhere in our childhood memories we are all laced with hefty feelings around the holidays and with the recognition of the traditions of the people around us. And those feelings seem to seep into our adulthoods whether packaged in excitement, anxiety, grief, guilt, belonging, kinship, or celebration. I think this is part of the reason why December seems to catch me off guard each year, that surprising nudge that the holidays are also so very tender and full of feeling.
So, I've found myself reclaiming the holidays this year. We have our first ever Christmas tree dotted with delicate vintage glass bulbs, strands of tiny white lights, and very special handmade garland. We've strung the same little white lights around the living room and kitchen, happy to maneuver through the evening hours with this low pretty lighting. And for the first time in several years, I have carefully picked my wrappings and ribbons, already written my holiday cards to faraway friends, and might even make my own holly leaf stamps for the brown kraft paper. I'm now scouring books and websites for favorite patterns for a handmade Christmas tree skirt or hanging stockings. (Any suggestions?)
We have decided to stay put this holiday season. For the first time in 33 years, I'm not going to be at my mom's house on Christmas morning. And while I'm saddened at the thought of being away from my beloved NY family, there's also a bit of holiday playfulness perking up around our apartment, surprising us with newly invigorated excitement, a whole new set of "firsts" to guide us through the emotional terrain of Christmas. Perhaps I'm just getting a little bit older, softening at the edges as I go, realizing the warmth in some of the things I've forgotten to notice along the way... Hello, pretty little vintage ornaments, welcome to our first California Christmas.