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I don't know where to begin with this post because it is about loss and suffering - tough subjects to write about at Christmas time. But the truth is, this season is difficult for many people. Sadness does not take a holiday.
And Genna, the lovely young woman in the vintage dress, knows this too well.
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My dad grew up in Hamadan, Iran, one of the oldest cities in the world. Situated in the shadow of the Zagros Mountains, Hamadan is also one of the coldest places in Iran. My dad remembers winters so frigid, the dead could not be buried.
Moving to Chicago wasn't a complete weather shock for my dad, though he admits questioning the whole idea of a tornado - it's just wind! - until the day he saw a Chevy Impala lifted off the pavement in front of his in-law's house.
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Merry Christmas from The Bubble Joy! When you are a child, Christmas is magical. When you are a parent, Christmas is magical. But for those who are neither, Christmas can be tricky. It requires more effort to capture the spirit of the season. This, my husband and I learned together during our first Christmas back in our salad days. And the manner in which we learned this lesson inspired a collection in the shop.
Side note: I come across quite badly in this story. My mother-in-law, who recently started subscribing to this blog, is going to read this post and then spend the afternoon whispering to herself, "I knew it. I knew it!"
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This was our holiday card last year -- a reincarnation of the days, sixteen years earlier, when my sons actually did what I asked. By which I mean they donned antlers and Irish knit sweaters and lined up by age.
We took the original photo the year that we moved to Wisconsin. The boys loved how deer, foxes, even coyotes would meander through our woods and the idea of dressing up as reindeer delighted their innocent little imaginations.
They don't really do what I tell them anymore. Because at this point, what can I tell them that will be heard? To match their socks? Those days of parenting are over.
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