A blue-skied Christmas Eve plus every other one I've ever had

It's the afternoon of Christmas Eve: it's warm and blue skied and I think I observed bits of new grass popping up in my front garden. It hardly looks like Christmas Eve but somehow it still feels like it. With the two of us staying here, Christmas silently sneaks up on us since there's not a lot of planning or as my grandmother would call it "all that to-do! Geesh!". We've not lived in the same region as our families for over 13 years and I think of those 13 years, we've only made it home twice. We've grown used to making this holiday our own and each year it's what Christmas should be; quiet and lovely and happy. In discussing holiday plans, friends' reactions to our staying here is always mixed: some indifferent, some envious, some sympathetic, some incredulous and, once and a while, some harsh. One such remark has had me reeling more than I should have let it-- so much so that I called my dad and said, "someone suggested we evidently don't love you very much because we're not going home for Christmas-- I sincerely hope you don't see it that way too." My dad laughed his comforting laugh and said, "of course not... the best present is to know that you're safe and tucked into your warm houses-- not driving in a blizzard to get here or stuck in an airport or crammed on a plane with hundreds of stressed out people." My parents and Dale's have certainly seen enough blizzards, blinding snow and black ice in December to know that traveling at Christmas can be perilous and they're the first ones to say "please come in the summer instead." We've also seen enough cars in the ditch and delays at airports in winter to say, "ok. See you in June." Although other people might view it other ways, I realize that my Dad's wish for us to be warm and safe at Christmas is about as potent a statment of love that you could wish for. And I also know that because we don't see each other very often, my family says things to each other we probably wouldn't say to each other if we saw each other everyday. Distance makes relationships different-- not worse-- just different.
Last night we were tucked in our warm house and I was thinking of my dad's gesture of love in wanting us safe. Watching the delays at Heathrow and Denver, I know he was right. Instead of camping out in airport lines, we're happy to be tucked in with our cats, books, tea, games and groceries for a number of really great meals. And, indeed, because it is quiet, I have time to think and imagine. Distance and time fade away and suddenly I'm anywhere I want to be and with anyone I want to see. Last night, I had my tea sitting on a silver tray my Mum had given me last year. It was a gift from my Granny's staff at the theatre she managed and it was engraved "Merry Christmas Mrs. Whyte, Christmas 1973." Looking at it, I could imagine her with me again. And, I thought about doing our annual Christmas puzzle with my mum. And my dad and me sneaking down to the stables after closing to put up apple-filled Christmas stockings for our favourite horses. Or giving my beloved horse Rhett his bag of Christmas carrots. Or looking out to the black silent sky over our farm and thinking maybe that red blinking light is Santa's sleigh. It's all very comforting to feel time and space disappear and to feel that love and happiness again. This, I realize, is what Christmas is. Anyway, Merry Christmas to you wherever you may be! Much love to you all, H
PS: the odd image up top is the view out my front door window-- my own white lights and my neighbours' red and blue.