Nash, Edith / Practice the here and now: selected writings of Edith Nash
Christmas morning, pp. 59-60
60Sara Lee, although Pepperidge Farm is better but not always available where I live. I open very few packages, one from each daughter, chosen with exquisite attention to my real self, either homemade or a book I might have written — it speaks to me so clearly. One year both daughters sent me Home Cooking by Laurie Colwin, and I wept with joy at their understanding of where I was and what I was doing. My old women friends who have me on their Christmas list for small remembrances have mostly died, since I generally survive my age-mates. So I don't have to wonder where to put the Christmas ornaments, candle holders, or mysterious kitchen gadgets that accumulate in my arsenal. I relish recent communications — telephone calls, E-Mails, whatever comes. Plants bloom in the living room. The tree is decorated with all our family mementos but I didn't do it myself. My household helpers have an artist's eye and hang them with love and remembrance, many made by daughters and grandchildren. I feel at home. I look out the window at the frozen landscape, watch the squirrels chase each other around the bird feeders, admire the snowy river. I think about anything and everything, write in my journal, wonder about the land above -. the sky inhabited by people I have known and treasured. When either daughter asks if I want to visit them or have them come to be with me on this loaded day, I say, "If you are alone it is better to be alone," and I rest in my skin, homeless no longer.
Copyright © 2001 Edith Nash. For information on re-use see: http://digital.library.wisc.edu/1711.dl/Copyright