Merry Christmas

I’m sitting in my tiny stone cabin. Though it is clearly winter, I have my shoes off. There’s a chance I put one too many logs on the fire, because the thermometer right next to the wood stove reads more than eighty degrees and the rest of the place is starting to warm up to catch up. The radio is turned down as low as possible so I can hear the north wind. The latest weather report said the wind had reached sustained speeds of 35 mph, with gusts to 50, and I believe it. There are few things as pleasant as listening to a howling wind while safe and warm inside.

I’m halfway through a pot of jasmine tea, not to mention an impromptu afternoon snack of butterscotch morsels and dry roasted peanuts that I snuck out of the house.

I’m a grown man. I’m not completely certain why I felt the need to sneak my snack out of the house, but there’s a reasonable chance that given the amount of snacks and sweets lurking about the house this time of year, there might have been a question raised as to whether or not a snack was necessary.

All in all, I’m about as comfortable as a human being with my level of general decrepitude, in this portion of the twenty-first century, can be. I’m working today because on my usual Monday writing day I’ll be in the Twin Cities, officiating at a wedding.

A former Sunday School student is getting married and asked us to be involved. It’s a great honor, and a great way to lead into Christmas.

It’s funny how what you’d think would be a standard holiday can vary so much from year to year. When our kids were little, this time of year was frantic. Not only with presents and various holiday programs, but also with trying to get end-of-the-year bookwork in order. With all the decisions that entails for a farmer, it made for a flurry of activity, not to mention a certain amount of stress. Just being in charge of the Christmas pageant was a lot, until I figured out two tricks. One, don’t give the shepherds their staffs until it was time for them to go on stage, and two, remember that no matter what happens, it will all be over in twenty minutes.

As the kids grew older, plastic toys gave way to sweaters and theatre tickets. When the grandchildren started to arrive, the pendulum swung back for a few years.

Both my parents died in the month of December, a few years apart, which added a flavor of melancholy and sadness to the holiday. A couple years ago, Christmas day started at 3:00 a.m. when the whole clan met at the airport for a family trip to the Dominican Republic, the fulfillment of a promise to Grandchild One. Last year, we feasted on carne asada instead of ham. It all works.

Even though all the Christmases have been different, they’ve all been Christmas. Because Christmas is just about love. Nothing more complicated than that. Doesn’t matter if you’re watching a three-year-old tear through wrapping paper or trying to talk around the fact that there’s an empty chair at the head of the table. There are as many different flavors to love as there are in a Christmas dinner. That’s fine, that’s as it should be.

I’m pretty excited to be part of a wedding right before Christmas. It adds a new flavor to the holiday I’ve never experienced before.

Whatever flavor your Christmas is, I hope you cherish it: the sweet and the salty, the soft and the bitter.

I know I will.

Copyright 2025 Brent Olson