The snowflakes came down...

I committed the last act of de-Christmasizing the house this morning. I know, it’s February, you’re probably rolling your eyes. My dad used to leave his tree up until his birthday, though (February 16th, but since he was German and they don’t put their trees up until Christmas eve, unlike we Americans who rush out the day after Thanksgiving looking for the perfect evergreen, it’s not as bad as it sounds). We absolutely had to take down the outdoor Christmas lights earlier because Maddy plugs them in every day when she comes home from school and soon we were the only house on the block crazily blazing. After January, it seems, well, unseemly.

But I didn’t have the heart until this morning to take down the paper snowflakes that we taped up all over the dining room windows this year. Somehow they signified more than Christmas for me – they were part of a good memory, part of a season of friends and good times and simple gifts.

It all started with our annual visit to a local nursing home for Christmas caroling, which turned out kind of special this year. The kids always invite several friends along and some diehard parents come, too (I love you, Kim!) and then everyone comes back to our house for hot drinks and cookies, and people come and go as the evening winds on. It’s the beginning of Christmas for us, the end of school for two weeks for the kids, and it’s quickly becoming my favorite tradition.

As I said, this year was special…

First, there was the snow. It started the night before and came down like I hadn’t seen in years (not since I was a kid and we used the Sand Point Country Club’s golf course for toboggan racing!). It stuck and then it snowed some more. At first I considered canceling the event. Schools were closed and Seattle was pulling its usual scared-of-the-snow routine. I assumed many people wouldn’t be able to get here. But then I realized that those folks in the nursing home weren’t going anywhere, not today or any day really, and since we are so close we would just walk. Sure, we’d be a smaller group, but we few would just sing louder. So, I called the activities coordinator at Park West Nursing Center and told her we were still coming. “Good!” she said. “The tap dancers before you have canceled, so the folks will be in need of some diversion.” Next I called all the friends we had invited, “Singing is ON, please come if you can.”

Now, Sam is 14 and he thought he’d outgrown singing at the nursing home. He told me he wasn’t inviting anyone this year, none of his friends would be interested anyway. I said fine, but he still had to be there and sing. Steve had left early that morning under the motto “The University never shuts and neither does its real estate office,” I guess. He said it wasn’t likely he’d be able to get back here by 3:00 for singing. Andrew said Diane was sick and couldn’t make it and two of Maddy’s friends said they wouldn’t be coming either. Humpf, small group indeed. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all.

But suddenly, somehow, both the phone and the doorbell started ringing. “I’m coming!” Kim hollered, “Jan’s on his way, too!” Suzanne called to say that both Max and Gabe were walking the two miles in the snow, they’d be here shortly, and we should watch out for Tizo, who really wanted to sing. Linda said she and Kirsten would make it (four-wheel drive) and could she pick up anyone else on the way? My mom and Bear, recently moved from Whidbey Island to High Point’s new development in West Seattle (and finally able to be around for these kinds of events!), were bound and determined not to let a little snow stop them, “We’ll be there!” So I found myself throwing mittens and scarves at various people as we all headed out the door and into the snow around 2:30. I walked along with Kim and we marveled at how much all the kids had grown since we started this singing tradition nearly ten years ago. Andrew, Jan and Max are young men now, with low voices and plans for post-high school and Maddy is no longer riding on my hip. And Sam…

As we neared Admiral Way, I heard some kids yell from across the street, “Sam!” It was Toby and Nick and Alaine. Turns out Sam had invited friends after all.

We were more than twenty people packed into the elevator and pouring out to sing to the residents on each floor. And, just when I thought I would burst from the warm feelings I had for all these young kids and old people, my throat tight with emotion and unable to join in for our 5th rendition of “Let it Snow” (a particular favorite that day), the elevator door opened and out walked Steve. When he caught my eye and smiled, my day was complete.

We all arrived back at the house, red-cheeked and happy, and consumed glühwein and hot cider, cookies and crackers with cheese. Soon, Sam and Maddy and their buddies disappeared wherever they go, down the street for sledding, down to the basement for gaming. Andrew’s crowd and we adults were left sitting around the table, chatting and eating and drinking. “Hey!” I said, “Let’s make snowflakes!” Everyone grinned and, I swear, not one person said it was one of my harebrained ideas. I threw several pairs of scissors and a pile of white paper on the table.

I had no idea how creative these people were. Suzanne produced a line of dancing mermaids on one “flake” and next she made one with a circle of cats, tails almost waving in the air. Linda’s looked as if they’d been intricately etched out of lace and I had to check her scissors to be sure they weren’t somehow different from the ones I was using. Jan fashioned a twin set of grinning frogs when he mistakenly cut through two pieces of paper instead of one. Steve forgot you had to start with a square to get a circle, but his elaborate rectangles turned out to be crowd pleasers. The rest of us muddled through, creating something beautiful out of paper in spite of ourselves.

As fast as we could make them, Kim taped them up on the windows until we were surrounded by our artwork on the inside, while Mother Nature’s own handiwork continued to fall softly outside.

I was hooked. From that moment on, everybody who walked in our front door during the entire Christmas season had to make a snowflake. “Come on,” I cajoled Thomas, who eventually surprised himself with his unique design; Jeremy obliged me at Christmas dinner, producing two of my favorites, which we taped one over the other creating a double snowflake; and Papa sat down to cut his very first snowflake at age 69. Each one joined the others on the windows until there was no room for more.

It was fun. It was something different in our typical rush of Christmas hecticity. And I smile as I look at all the snowflakes, conjuring up each person in my mind. I didn’t want to take them down today, but I decided we could just do this again next year. In fact, I might think of something else that people can do when we gather together, maybe impromptu haiku or interpretive dance.

So, watch out if you’re planning a visit any time soon, I haven’t lost my touch…