I know that the term interregnum is typically defined as the period of time between royal reigns. But it keeps popping into my head as the right word to describe this brief interlude between Thanksgiving and the start of the heart of the Christmas season.
Many, especially those of you who put the tree up the minute the turkey carcass has been picked clean, would argue that the Christmas season is already in full swing, it is December after all. And last weekend’s Christmas Walk festivities in town were a perfect kickoff.
But I also think there’s something to be said, at least for sanity’s sake, to make the transition slowly. To metaphorically allow the pumpkins to linger, even as the wreaths are being hung.
Our home was full for a glorious five days. There were bumps of course – TVs turned up too loud, doors slamming and jolting me awake long after my usual bedtime, stress dreams the fridge door was left open after post-midnight snack runs. And towels. So many wet towels. But each night as I closed my eyes, I reveled in knowing four of us were under one roof, safe and sound for that moment in time.
And then they left, flying and driving back to their lives. The better part of the next few days was spent gathering the debris of their visit. Straightening their rooms. Putting away the table extensions. Laundry. So much laundry.
It’s the quiet that I am relishing now. It seems more pronounced than it did before Thanksgiving, even though we’ve been at this empty nest thing for a while. It must be the juxtaposition. What I didn’t quite appreciate is that the quiet is its own source of energy, and I need its restoration.
How can I make it last? Well, for starters, I plan to decorate slowly, over time. Some mantle greenery here, a table centerpiece there. It doesn’t all have to be done wholly and perfectly all at once. I also tend to put the tree up but only with lights for a few weeks. I like leaving the decorating until we can be together, but truth be told, I actually prefer the tree lit and unadorned.
I’ve started shopping, picking up things that catch my eye for the kids or a friend or a sibling. But I am trying not to plow through my gift list like some kind of Sherman’s March. It will all get done.
There’ll be some social things on our calendar, some traditions we keep. There’s one couple we befriended at daycare when Jack was an infant who we’ll have a drink with — we see them all year, too — but it’s part of our Christmas tradition to have a holiday cocktail together and marvel at the passage of time. Making a point of small moments can be as celebratory as grand ones.
There’ll be a time, maybe next week, maybe the week after, where I’ll start making a list of the groceries I need for our Christmas Eve and Christmas Day menus. The orders to be placed. I’ll buy wrapping paper and bows, and scramble to find the perfect gifts. My anxiety level will start to creep up, stress dreams of misplaced presents will creep in.
Until then, I will treasure this peaceful interregnum where spirit, holiday and otherwise, is being renewed.
