This weekend I've been very productive doing non-productive things.
Now that the rush and fanfare of Halloween has subsided, the kids are now fully-engaged in Christmas mode. They're not asking for presents or busying themselves making Santa lists, but they can't wait to get the house decorated. I have to admit, I'm to blame for this... I like the tree to go up the day after Thanksgiving, but I try to get some of the other stuff put up ahead of time. We have several "Christmas Village" pieces and each year that kids and I create an idyllic little town scene, waiting until sunset when we can flip the switch and see the set bathed in the warm glow of the lights set inside each house. Vince Guaraldi's Christmas CD has already been playing for months. We're ready.
My wife is a bit more on the "let's not rush the holidays" side of life, but she tolerates and occasionally humors us. So as we sat in the living room discussing our plan of attack for this year's holiday decorations, we watched as Baby Sam climbed anything and everything he could get is fingers and prehensile toes around. It was at that moment that we knew a Christmas tree in the traditional living room spot just wasn't going to happen. We have a cathedral ceiling with a loft overlooking from the second floor, so a tree can be placed on the balcony and we can still enjoy seeing it from the room where we spend most of our time... but not without some amount of effort.
For over two years, the loft has served as home office space for both my wife and I. When we moved in to the house, we each had our own office plus a guest bedroom to boot. Today, three kids and two dogs later, things are a bit more cramped. So it was decided that I was to reclaim my original home office in the finished basement, the wife would keep her office on the balcony and we would be able to open up the whole area - thereby making room for a tree and, once the holidays were over, an art and work area for the kiddos.
I liked this strategy and it looked good on paper, but it soon occurred to me that in order to move my office back downstairs, I would - in fact - have to move things. Lots of 'em. Space needed to be cleared in the attic to accommodate a few pieces of furniture. Some old furniture we decided we would never use again needed to be hauled out to the town recycling center. Items from the basement needed to be moved to the garage. My office needed to be cleaned and moved down to the basement. Wifey's office needed to be moved from one end of the loft to another. Etcetera.
The most challenging bit for me is the cleaning and purging aspect of a move. I invariably get sucked in to the time warp generated by old photos, long forgotten pieces of paper with "I love you Daddy" scribbled on it and other random artifacts from the past. During this weekend's activities I found several items from when I was a kid - an old Commodore 64 user's manual, He-Man stickers and a file folder with dozens of drawings I made when I was my son's age.
The item that stopped me in my tracks, however, was a post card from my paternal grandparents. It was sent during a California vacation - the only vacation I ever remember them taking - purchased on a day trip to "Universal City" in Hollywood. Time had long since worn away the date on the old Van Nuys postmark, but I clearly remember receiving this card as a child. I was 7 or 8 years old and loved "Battlestar Galactica" (the original series) so my grandparents chose an appropriate postcard (see above.) I was so excited to receive something that not only came all the way from California, but also featured Cylons. Could it be any cooler?
As I read the carefully formed cursive of my Grandmother's hand, I was reminded of all the Christmas Eve celebrations we spent at their house. Their 50s-era ranch-style home was packed with aunts, uncles and cousins. In the far corner of the parlor (or "pahlah" as it is known to those of us with a thick New England drawl) was the aluminum 'Evergleam' Christmas tree, complete with rotating light wheel which magically changed the color of the metallic branches. And, of course, food was EVERYWHERE. Homemade pizza, cannoli from our favorite local bakery and stacks of warm pizzelles that were so fresh you could smell the anisette from a block away.
In the weeks leading up to Christmas, our own home underwent something of a transformation as well. Furniture in the parlor was rearranged to accommodate the tree, cards and photos were hung around the doorway and mahogany columns that separated the parlor from the dining room and the faux cardboard fireplace - complete with flickering bulb - was placed next to the china cabinet and the stockings were hung. I vividly remember the big production of my parents dragging things down from the attic or up from the basement in preparation for the holidays, the memories of which instantly transport me to my childhood home.
Sometimes I'm struck by the odd symmetry of life. As my wife and I are scurrying about the house - kicking-up dust and shuffling furniture - the routine isn't all that different from that of our parents. As I was lamenting the fact that I wasn't spending much of that precious weekend time with the kids while we readied the house for a baby-proof Christmas - they were just hovering and watching the activity swirl around them - I realized how content and excited I was to watch my parents and grandparents go through similar motions. Back then it marked the beginning of my favorite time of year. Today it marks fond memories of childhood and remembrances of loved ones long since passed.
As I write this entry, I'm sitting at the desk in my "new" home office and enjoying that brief period of tidiness that follows a move - that time after everything has been put away but before there's an opportunity to mess it up again. My wife's office - perpetually and annoyingly neat - is nestled into its new corner of the world and the loft looks now looks huge... certainly roomy enough to accommodate a Christmas tree and the requisite stack of presents. During the next couple of weeks the decorations will begin to trickle out and appear throughout the house, then on the day after Thanksgiving the tree and all of the other large decorations will go up. Yet another day of chaos and excitement.
So although these little trips down memory lane (triggered by an old postcard or a broken toy that you just can't seem to throw away) may tack an hour or two onto the moving process, they're sometimes necessary detours that deliver insight, perspective and - if you're lucky - a bit of the magic of being a kid.
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