Daydreaming in the evening, weary from work and with cold toes, I sat on the couch under a string of colored lights. The cats lounged, stretched, yawned, returned to their day-long series of naps, and I eyed the tree through half-closed lids. A Christmas tree. For the first time since I'd struck out from my parents' house, there were significant seasonal decorations in my home. I didn't realize that I'd missed them. Since the divorce I'd not wanted to be reminded of holidays past, the reorganization of my family that made those memories bittersweet. But now here, in the living room of my new home, stood a tree, plastic and cheerful, wrapped round with colored lights, top leaning slightly one way - and soon to have presents underneath. A season's ritual I never thought I'd want.
Somehow, now, the season feels different. Less a feeling of loss and nostalgia, more a pleasant anticipation of the future. When we took the tree out of the box, we had friends over. We put streamed a laughably bad Christmas station through the Wii, ate pumpkin pie. These are the things I want the holidays to remind me of.
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