It was a sweet beginning. My aspiration to loosen the hinges on our back door have begun. We invited a party's worth of people to fit us into their post holiday plans. The younger set never walked past the dining room table, where gingerbread houses sprung up like a new development. The walls and roofs were
prebaked, as prefabs, but it was up to the new owners to coax them into stability, and then slather on gumdrops.
Other people stood in the kitchen, with no intention of finding a chair while they bantered. A mug of mulled wine in one hand, and a slice of apple in the other, was the fuel they needed. The living room was its own blizzard, with snips of white paper floating to
the floor as people cut messages of Joy! and Peace.
"We are out of joy," a boy said to me, when the folder with that particular snowflake pattern was empty. But the real thing was all around us, regardless of our ability to label it.
It is a
remarkable privilege, to be able to welcome friends in. The bounty of light and warmth and crackers are such that we can share. The music we listened to between laughter was not thinned from an increase in ears. The limits on my ability to greet each precious person were softened, erased really, by the connections between people. There was enough camaraderie for everyone.