THE MAGIC OF NEW FALLEN SNOW

Moments ago, I was standing at the kitchen sink running water for a sink-load of dishes left over from last night. As is my habit, I glanced out the window. I noticed that the light dusting of snow overnight had not melted completely away. Enough remained to work its magic.

And suddenly, like the warmth of a hot drink on a cold day, a lovely feeling seeped through my body from head to toe.

Christmas.

I was filled with the gentle joy of Christmas. Not to sound too Scrooge-like, it was a commanding sense of Christmases past and the Christmas to come.

It just felt so utterly like Christmas.

It felt wonderful.

I confess I was a bit surprised and a bit caught off guard. For one thing, it’s rather early, in my book, for feeling that way. Our football season ended just last night with a truly incredible Grey Cup game.

Also, that old-fashioned wholly natural Christmas spirit has seemed to grow more and more elusive.

For years now we haven’t been making a big deal about Christmas. We rarely get a real tree any more, going with a two-foot artificial job with built-in fibre-optic lights. Each year we put up fewer and fewer decorations — and still take till spring to get the last of them tossed back down into the basement.

We even buy fewer gifts. And see fewer people.

A quieter Christmas

That’s not to say we don’t have lovely Christmases any more. We do. They’re just quieter and, by design, much less taxing.

Just not quite so Christmasy as when we used to make a bigger production of the annual holiday.

Still, a highlight each year is the return of our oldest son Travis from Toronto where he’s lived and worked for years now, ever since graduating from the University of Waterloo.

We see more of our youngest son Tyler throughout the year as he and his wife Miche live here in town, even if at the opposite side of the city. Still, visiting them at Christmas is another highlight. And it will be even more special this year because, at almost a year and a half, our granddaughter Rachel is even more aware of her world and thus more aware this year of Christmas.

Still, as nice as our laid-back Christmases are, I can’t say I actively look forward to them. Mostly, I guess, because they are a reminder of the limitations I live with. These days energy — mental and emotional as well as physical — is an even rarer commodity for me, something that not only has to be rationed but the sheer lack of energy can make the simplest things a chore.

If we go out, or do something that is strenuous for me, I always have to pay with downtime. With recovery time. With time in bed. Missing things.

So at Christmas we do a lot of sitting quietly together, often reading or simply relaxing, enjoying each other’s company, in conversation or silence. Actually, I think it helps make Christmas more of a relaxing time for Travis and Mariette. They certainly don’t seem to complain.

But for me, the choice is not optional. That’s why it reminds me of my limitations.

The danger of fatigue

I can easily exhaust myself with the simplest of stripped-back preparations — from basic housecleaning to minimal decorating. (Thank goodness Mariette takes care of the food shopping and such.)

And when I am overtired, everything hurts more, which can grate on my nerves even worse than usual, too often sparking an emotional outburst I often regret. Even if my observations are valid, expressing them in an even slightly overwrought manner can create needless tension. (Obviously I wouldn’t call this paragraph an inside joke, more of an inside apology for Thanksgiving, which for us was in October. Those to whom the apology is aimed, well, you know who you are.) 😕

As everyone has probably guessed by now, I am not a stoic. I’m not one who can maintain a smiling brave face and never let on that I am suffering inside. I’m not one of those people sometimes considered heroic for maintaining such a brave front. “He was such a saint. You’d never know he had a problem or how much he was hurting inside.”

I have managed to ignore the pain as much as possible, though I’m sure it’s still obvious when I’m having bad days. But I noticed something last night. I was rocking back and forth a bit as I sat on the couch watching TV. I don’t always realize what I am doing but rocking and/or rubbing my legs are what I do when the chronic (24/7) leg pain is worse than usual.

Mariette mentioned that it looked like I had to go to the bathroom.

“Why do you say that?” I said.

“Because you’re rocking back and forth.”

“Oh. That’s because my legs are bothering me.”

Now she used to know that. But I think I’ve been so quiet, most of the time, about the leg pain, that she’d forgotten.

Of course being quiet about the leg pain was probably buried under my complaining about all my OTHER aches and pains. 😆

Warts and all

I think what happens is that, as one friend informed me, I am far more contemplative than most people. Which is why I am so open about everything, warts (complaining, crankiness, emotional outbursts) and all, when rambling like this.

And with not enough to distract me most days, I have had to work at not obsessing about my health problems and how they’ve negatively affected my quality of life. I don’t always succeed, but I think I’m doing much better now. Though perhaps that statement might seem odd given how I’ve ended up rambling on here about that very subject.

At the chronic pain clinic, now so many years ago, we were taught not to act out our pain. To not be afraid of misleading people with a smile.

That’s a surprisingly hard thing to do. One thing I found I had in common with fellow sufferers of chronic pain was this fear of giving people the impression everything is fine, only to have them surprised and/or confused when the pain breaks through, or wears one down, to the point they can’t pretend to be happy and feeling fine.

From experience, we find that this can cause its own set of problems.

“Why are you acting this way? You seemed fine.”

“Why can’t you (go here, do this, work at that)? You seem fine to me.”

We’re afraid people will get the wrong impression and expect too much leading to inevitable disappointment, annoyance, even anger.

The depth of discomfort

I do try to smile as much as I can — though I’m sure I could do much better at it. And my “complaining” or “pained expressions” often don’t come close to revealing the true depth of discomfort. (I long ago learned that “discomfort” is a medical term for PAIN, as in “You may feel a little discomfort . . .”)

But this whole idea of being honest and not misleading people is why I have compromised and add the “all things considered” when I say I’m fine. Because despite the constant pain, the trouble sleeping, the depression, the sometimes keen discomfort of constipation, the guilt about not doing more (including keeping up with my blog), the fear about my faltering heart, etc. etc., amazingly enough, I AM basically fine.

Which is why I consider all this openness about my medical problems more a matter of sharing than bellyaching. 🙂

But enough of that. I realize now that while I seem to have gotten way off topic, I really haven’t.

It’s like the artist who notes that without darkness, there is no light.

Without realizing all that works night and day against me being simply comfortable, let alone feeling good, one cannot understand how truly wonderful was this sudden influx of Christmas joy.

I’m actually looking forward to Christmas. And I know it will be an even better if it’s a white Christmas.

And I’m going to try real hard to worry less about things not done. Try real hard to get as much sleep and rest as possible. And try real hard to be less grouchy.

So Trav, I think it’s safe to come home again. 😉

And to all who are kind enough to be reading this, even though technically it’s not even December yet, I wish you a Merry Christmas, I wish you a Merry Christmas, I wish you a Merry Christmas, and a light dusting of snow.

(And if you don’t celebrate Christmas, best wishes for whatever you do celebrate at this time of year. And if you don’t live in the snowbelt, sorry about that and I hope you have nice weather.)

Oh how I love snow. Just a little can be like magic dust, so frail but so powerful. I am so grateful to be smiling a genuine smile of such pleasure.