By Janice Lindsay
Contributing Writer
“Our life is frittered away by details…Simplify, simplify,” said Henry David Thoreau, 19th-century Concord philosopher.
Never mind that while Henry was simplifying and “roughing” it on the shores of Walden Pond, he took his laundry home so his Mom could do it. Life is always simpler if you can get someone else to take care of the details.
But, Henry’s reliance on Mom aside, the advice to simplify makes sense. Most of us must tend to our own details. Before and during the winter holidays, we maintainers of family traditions and celebrations are up to our eyeballs in details: prepare for the festivities and maybe overnight guests; acquire presents for family and friends; do our day jobs or volunteer work while we manage home life; contribute to worthy causes; participate in parties, concerts, and other gatherings.
Some people possess unlimited energy and thrive on the season’s frenzy of details. Then, there’s the rest of us. The very thought inspires, in me, the need to take a nap.
So: simplify.
I learned a lesson in holiday simplification when I was 12.
Everyone loves a cozy candle-lit Christmas Eve dinner. Hours of preparation are well worth it when the family gathers around the table, all aglow. Think Norman Rockwell painting. On second thought, don’t. Is there such a perfect family, such a perfect dinner?
On that particular Christmas, Mom was just home from the hospital with our new baby brother, in no shape to prepare a festive meal. Dad didn’t have time and we kids didn’t know how. Simple solution: a couple of cans of Chef Boyardee ravioli. The next year, we remembered and a tradition was born. For years, canned ravioli was our family’s simple Christmas Eve dinner.
When our son Chris was little, I was fortunate that I could stay home with him. But once he was in first grade, I went back to work. As a working-outside-the-home mom, I struggled to accomplish all the homemaker activities exactly as I had done them before, until a simplifying thought struck me: Maybe the world wouldn’t end if we had an occasional store-bought Christmas cookie instead of homemade. Simplify.
Simplifying the holidays is a larger proposition than simplifying cookies, of course.
We could start by simplifying our expectations.
Can I really identify the perfect gift for everybody? Or would something simple, pleasant, and unexpected please just as well? Must I display every single decoration every single year? Could we spread out family visits instead of trying to see everybody on The Day?
The key is to decide what really matters. Simplify where it doesn’t matter, complexify where it does.
When Chris was three, I made a special Christmas morning breakfast: homemade dinner rolls, the dough arranged and baked on a cookie sheet in Christmas tree shape, drizzled with green frosting, decorated with candied fruits and nuts. It was festive, but a lot more complicated than our usual scrambled eggs and toast.
The next year, Chris asked if I would make it again. Of course I said yes. And I made it every Christmas for decades, long after he had left home to start his own household and decorate his own Christmas tree bread.
My mother made her Christmas cards. She wrote a poem and painted a design to go with it. A store-bought card would have been simpler. But it was a work of love. Her cards became family keepsakes.
What’s truly important to you, and what isn’t?
As Thoreau said, “The price of anything is the amount of life you exchange for it.” Some things are worth the price. For the rest: simplify.
I hope Thoreau’s mom enjoyed doing laundry.
Contact jlindsay@tidewater.net
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