I’m sitting in my kitchen listening to Dave Brubeck’s rendition of “Silent Night” as snow falls into the purple light of dusk. We’re supposed to get a foot; it’s the first time in my fairly long memory that we had snow so close to Christmas and it’s magic. I’m baking cookies, making certain to remember the favorites of each of those I love. A very small gift, crafted from a million pounds of butter and sugar.
This week I was working on two different blog ideas I’ve been thinking about since before Thanksgiving, when, yet again, I got sidetracked. I decided it can wait till the New Year. All those wonderful ideas will be there, and my mind will return to them, less sentimental and refreshed by a break.
I’ve had many reminders this year, yet again, of how fragile life is, how tenuous happiness, how irrelevant success, and how important the fundamental things are that make our lives truly rich and meaningful. And today, as I bake these damned cookies yet again for about the 45th year in a row, struggle to untangle the lights, plow my way through the packages and wonder why I make myself crazy every year, I know the answer. It’s what I do to let the people I love know that whatever else happens, whatever life brings, we have each other. The spirit of my parents long gone passes on to my grandchildren newly arrived, and traditions form the circle of continuity. That’s a gift to be celebrated in moments of peace and a source of solace in times of struggle. Little else matters.
If design is about anything, it’s about life. L’Chaim…
and Merry Christmas, one and all.
