Y IS FOR YULE

Summer is beginning to sputter here and brief hours of the cooler fall temperatures to come have actually occurred during a few late evenings. The daytime highs remain in the high 60s and 70s, and yet I find myself just itching to have a fire blazing in the fireplace.

I do not like to wish time away. It passes far too quickly as it is. I can wait for the cold days and nites to have that raging fire going. But, it does not mean that I will not be repeatedly glancing at our fireplace and feeling the excitement of knowing it will be all too soon when it will be glowing and spreading its warmth throughout the family room.

Such an odd entry, it may seem. Let's blame it on my husband. Why? Because I don't want it to be my fault. ::grin:: Here's the deal. I was pretty sick for a good week with a fever, double ear infection, and pain that was unbearable at times. After the antibiotics, steroids, and painkillers worked their magic, I was antsy. I am not used to being sick, nor am I used to being unable to run around and do all I want to do. I had much pent-up energy that needed expended. So, I did what I do every year at just about this time. I rearranged my family room furniture. The hubby hates it when I do that. Despises it. Tough. I do it anyway. (This really is leading to YULE!)

At first I was chilling while I pushed and pulled the sofa across the room. I knew my fever had kicked up again, but I didn't care. Hubby sat in his recliner watching television. And avoiding eye contact with me. Uh huh. One look over at me struggling with the sofa would have guilted him into feeling obligated to help. I chuckled to myself. I can so read that man like a book.

I figured I would mess with his mind just a bit. I knew the following day was to reach temperatures in the nineties. I mentioned to him that I was chilling, and then I said, "Wouldn't it be neat to get a nice fire going in the fireplace tonite?" His voice took on an edgy tone when he responded with, "Well, I'm not going to stay in this room if you start a fire." I began to laugh the maniacal laughter of the feverish. I asked him if maybe he thought I was just yanking his chain seeing as how it was going to be in the friggin' nineties the next day.

He never did help me move any of the furniture. And by the time I had dragged the overstuffed chair to its new spot, I began stripping. I had gotten so hot. Even without a fire going. ::grin:: Eye contact was made during the disrobing. Just not eye-to-eye contact. Eye-to-body was what he made. I ignored him knowing it was driving him nuts. Such fun to be a tease with him. He is so easy.

Now my family room is beautiful. Everything is immaculate and newly placed. Our blind dog was led through the new arrangement to help her get her bearings, and she is already accustomed to the furniture placement. And I know it will be in the blink of an eye when I will watch the snowflakes dance from the clouds to the ground while I am ensconced on my sofa enjoying the warmth of a fire playing in the fireplace.

Did I mention I know exactly where I will be putting our Christmas tree in that room? I do. I made sure I left the perfect spot when I planned the placement of all the furniture. With the removal of a couple pieces of small furniture beside the fireplace, the tree will stand there in all its glory. I also made certain that I will be able to photograph the kids opening their gifts without anything obstructing the view.

You see, winter is my favorite season. It invigorates me. Rejuvenates everything in and about me. And Christmas is my favorite holiday. It is all incredibly special, even magical, in countless ways. It is not just the memories I have accumulated that add to its magic; it is also the new memories we are making each year. And the warmth of the yule season extends far beyond that which emanates from the hearth. It reaches far deeper into our hearts and minds. And we are the better for it.

"Shall we liken Christmas to the web in a loom? There are many weavers, who work into the pattern the experience of their lives. When one generation goes, another comes to take up the weft where it has been dropped. The pattern changes as the mind changes, yet never begins quite anew. At first, we are not sure that we discern the pattern, but at last we see that, unknown to the weavers themselves, something has taken shape before our eyes, and that they have made something very beautiful, something which compels our understanding." ~Earl W. Count