Lighten Up! - by Sharon Flood Kasenberg

The Season of the Child

You thought you'd aged - but oh, forsooth,
you never had to cede your youth
or live your life wound up so tight
that you could seldom feel delight.
So as the days grow dark and drear
just lighten up - be of good cheer!
Light up your face - put on a smile.
Lighten your load; relax a while.
Go take a walk, admire the lights
and count the stars on moonlit nights.

Enlighten self and be less blind,
and see you never left behind
that impish, awe-filled inner child,
and for this season she'll run wild.
She'll help you bake, and decorate!
(And no - her taste is not sedate.)
Pipe cleaner stars adorn the tree,
bright coloured lights glow merrily
and hand cut snowflakes windows grace -
there's cheerful chaos everyplace.

You thought you'd aged? Well - no, not quite.
Your inner child showed you the light
and from her laughing mouth came sound
of words that turned your Yuletide 'round
when in poetic, childish verse
she helped your darkening thoughts disperse.
"Just lighten up!" you heard her scold,
"It's Christmastime - don't act so old!
Come play with me", she said, and smiled.
"Embrace the season of the child."

by Sharon Flood Kasenberg, December 14th, 2015

In last year's Christmas post you met my former alter ego. "Holiday Dreams Sharon" was a bit hard to contend with at times. She was moody and intense and a bit obsessive about "Making Christmas Happen". (And that's exactly the way she saw that phrase in her head - a capitalized edict - the first subtitle in extensive inner tome - the one entitled "How Christmas NEEDS to Be.") I don't want to slam her, because "Holiday Dreams Sharon" did a pretty good job of making a nice Christmas. She just didn't always succeed in her efforts to have a nice Christmas. She was too concerned with the details to see the entire picture clearly, and I'm glad to report that my efforts to re-brand that particular doll have been largely successful.

This year, as the holidays got underway, we were knee deep in a kitchen renovation, so for the sake of my sanity I avoided any marathon baking efforts, and made a few less items. Because my days were less harried and my evenings were more free I had time to join my son on evening walks. Enjoying Christmas lights is something we've always had in common. When my boys were toddlers, I'd bundle them onto a toboggan and pull them around the neighbourhood to enjoy the lights. When they got older, we'd walk together in the evenings. But sometime before we moved to the big city of Kitchener the walks stopped. They were older and preferred to spend time with friends, and after being repeatedly warned off walking alone I ceased taking evening walks - and I missed them. I missed the hush and stillness of walks in moonlight - especially at Christmastime.

And so, this year I began joining my now grown son on his evening ambles. He'd preface these outings by stating that it was more about the two of us getting some exercise - especially on the wet, gray, dreary days that kept us inside too often through a bleak December. However, the facts disputed that claim:
- We'd both offer commentary on virtually every light display we saw;
- We'd stop to watch the projectors shift their patterns on residential canvasses; and
- We couldn't pass by any of those colour-changing lights without stopping to watch them run through their entire repertoire before moving on.

(We probably made a few neighbours nervously worry about strangers who appeared to be "casing the joint" - we're sorry about that.)

One night I turned to him and thanked him for hanging onto some of the same bits of "inner child" that I had; I told him how nice it is to walk with someone else who smiles every time they see a chipmunk (or bunny) and who, like me, gets a kick out of Christmas lights. We agreed that too many people don't take enough time to walk, let alone observe what they walk past, and lamented the little things they rush past and miss.

He helped me cover our windows in home-made snowflakes (a family tradition) - real six-sided ones as opposed to the pretty, but inaccurate paper doilies that people call snowflakes and stick in their windows. (Okay - so I'm still a little anal retentive about a few things, and in my defense I've given more than one "How to Make a Snowflake" tutorial in my time.) My husband and mother helped the two of us get our Christmas trees up and trimmed. Christmas baking got done, and an abbreviated list of cards sent out - late. The world didn't end.

About a week before Christmas I began shopping, and it was finished, including stocking stuffers, in three quick trips. Christmas Eve found me reading a book while husband and son frantically wrapped their gifts. (Well, not that frantically - since we don't buy all that much and reuse the same gift bags and tags year after year.)  I will candidly admit to feeling a bit smug about being well finished with all of my wrapping by that point. I'd never experienced such a peaceful Christmas Eve, and I relished  that quiet time.

By ten thirty, I was toddling off to bed, book in hand, and I decided that I may as well save a bit on the energy bill and unplug all the Christmas lights.  After all, I'd be the first one up and could plug them all in again before the others woke. (Background information: family tradition states that the lights can be left on, all night, on one night alone - Christmas Eve.) But not ten minutes later, my oldest son came down the stairs from his lair, and the Christmas tree lights got plugged in again. Then I heard the front door open and saw the exterior lights came back on before he fled to his sanctuary once more.

Snickering to myself I went into the bedroom and told my husband what had transpired - and the next day relished telling the tale to younger son and his wife when we Skyped. Yes, we all had a chuckle at older son's dogmatic attitude toward maintaining a time-honoured tradition - and I called him on his previous attempts to downplay his love of Christmas lights. Now in his mid-twenties, he's been "outed" as a light lover. Much teasing ensued...

But since then I've decided that my son was onto something when he plugged in those lights again. He was honouring his inner child by upholding family tradition. Without saying a word, his actions clearly said, "For this one night, let there be light!" (And to heck with the hydro bill!) And the more I think about it, the more onboard I am with that train of thought.

The older we get, the more staid we're apt to become. That goofy kid inside most of us shows up less and less often. In our quest to be mature and responsible we unplug our "lights" too often. We're more concerned with the energy that a good frolic might expend, and we play less. We joke less; smile less. We stress about every nickel and dime problem that comes along, and we miss taking time to admire what I'll call "The Great Light Show of Humanity" - the truly "Greatest Show on Earth!" - let alone perform in it. We are often far too miserly with all types of light and leavening.

This year I lightened up considerably. My husband remarked that he'd never seen me exhibit less "holiday stress", and I enjoyed watching Christmas Day unfold, meandering where it would without my constant direction. I'm lighter, but still on my way toward genuine enlightenment. I'm thinking it's likely that I'll see consistent improvement from here on in. Inner child's impishness is making her presence felt more often these days, and as a result my world is a brighter place.

My advice to you as the holiday season ends is simple - lighten up! If your imp made an appearance over Christmas, don't be too quick to pack it up with the Christmas ornaments. Go into the new year with a lighter step and a lighter load...

And just lighten up!