Christmas Eve day. Nap time.
Sitting with my legs propped up in the brown swivel chair in the middle of the living room. I just mopped the downstairs, and the rug and furniture is all off the floor and up on the counters and couch. I am like a little island here in the almost clean house. There are things I wish could still be done... the dirty windows, reorganizing the cabinet under the sink, dusting... little things that probably don't matter, but somehow seem important when guests are coming.
The smell of the lavender floor cleaner is strong.
There is anticipation in the air too.
Anticipation of Lilikoi and Santa really meeting for the first time, anticipation of a heavy rainstorm that will wipe away this sunshiny day and melt the snow, anticipation of my sister, and parents, and step-parents arriving very soon to begin celebrating, and of course this sacred night and day tomorrow.
As I sit here and type, unable to do these last minute chores because the floor is still drying, I am thinking of the rituals and traditions that have been passed down through the generations. These gestures which symbolize our commitment to each other and what we believe. Even the simple things like making cookies that take on more meaning than a cookies made at other times of the year. It is the passing of years, and our love for each other, and the marking of time with these traditions that makes this time so special.