A fierce debate often ensues when one person believes Christmas lights should be hung the moment the last trick-or-treaters leave their abode and another person believes the stroke of midnight on November 30th is the earliest possible date any form of holiday decoration is allowable. 
I pondered this as I recently walked among the holiday lights at the Mendocino Coast Botanical Gardens. 
Personally, I have never put up outdoor lights — perhaps because I spent almost twenty years renting and it just wasn’t “my territory.” 
However, I do put up a Christmas tree that remains decorated until spring, most years. 
The lights are so comforting, so enthralling, so enchanting, that I can’t seem to take the tree down (um, yes, it is artificial). 
Even though I can be a Grinch at times, I don’t want to rob anyone of the wonderful feeling lights give me and potentially give others. 
So, no matter what time of year it may be, let there be lights!
Photos © Sondra Sula.
Take a walk with me by reading my daily devotional book, Meditations on Mendocino by Sondra Sula. Available on Amazon in paperback or Kindle versions.
If you’d prefer a daily river walk, Reflections on the Fox River and Beyond by Sondra Sula, might just be the book for you.
January: I’m grateful for the promise of a fresh, new beginning.
February: That I can still clown around after failing to complete a single New Year’s resolution.
March: I’m thankful my husband makes me a loving breakfast every morning.
April: I’m grateful for the aesthetics and deliciousness of food, plus for pretty plates on which to serve it!
Christmas gifts can be anything you perceive them to be: frankincense, the sounds of drumming, a walk on Glass Beach…
For many of us, Christmas trees are a place to hang our memories, and I’m no exception. I now live in Wine Country where vineyards are just a hop, skip and jump away.
But let’s back up to one of my first ornaments given to me by my mother: a simple twist of color. This was my prized piece, the central focus of my Christmas tree. But one year the entire tree fell over and it smashed to bits. When I told the sad tale to my sister, Cathy, she kindly sent me hers (along with a flamingo since she now lived in Florida). What I hadn’t known was that my mother had given one to each of us four girls.
When I was a child, I was given a frog as a gift, and when others saw it, they surmised that I collected frogs. Soon I was up to my eyeballs in frogs and I inevitably fell in love with them. And the bird ornament was one of the first I bought when I lived alone—it’s still one of my favorites.
During my single days in Chicago, I used to have friends over in December, one at a time, to drink cocoa, cider or tea in front of my tree. Two very close friends, Jenneine and Jan, supplied me with these decorations that still showcase their personalities thirty years later.
The fortune cookie ornament given to me by my husband, Rob, reminds me of his proposal. He had two special cookies made at a fortune cookie factory in Chinatown, Chicago. Inside one read: Marriage is on the horizon. The other: Your destiny is to be Sondra Sula. The problem was, he needed to know which was which so he could give them to me in order, but when he went to pick up the cookies, the factory was on fire. He was lucky to get them at all, and by faith or fluke, I ended up opening them in the correct order.
We are so perfect for one another. He knew to get me the snowman ornament that was painted slightly wrong, wearing an expression of apprehension rather than jolliness.
Early in our marriage, I got him the surprise gift of a hermit crab. One of my favorite childhood books was Pagoo, the story of a hermit crab, and I thought everyone would love to have one. I was wrong. He was horrified. I had gotten myself one too, bought an aquarium, the whole nine yards. The next morning, I realized my hermit crab had murdered his during the night. After that I had to assure Rob I would NOT murder him in his sleep.
The seahorse and shell bring back memories of spending time with Rob’s parents in Nokomis, Florida. We even witnessed a seagull drop a seahorse in the sand at Venice Beach. And dinosaurs are self-explanatory when one has a field paleontologist for a husband.
We now live in whale country, too. The past two years we’ve missed the last whale-watching boat by a day, due to storms. Maybe in 2020 I’ll remember to book seats on the boat two weeks before the season ends.
I received this bunny egg last week from my friend, Joanie, whom I’ve known since 1987—my Spiegel days. She just came back from Austria, visiting her deceased mother’s birth place. She purchased this ornament in Salzburg, and it represents a special bond we share.
Lastly, Rob just bought this cupcake ornament for me this Christmas. It’s spongy! And aesthetically delicious. My niece, Heather, has touched it each time she’s come to visit. So I purchased a cupcake ornament for her. To begin her own memories. What stories does your Christmas tree tell?
The holiday season is so full of juxtapositions. I noted this as I walked through the “working gardens” of the Mendocino Coast Botanical Gardens. The outer ledge of a decrepit shed displayed a festive red-capped gnome alongside a plump bird companion. They seemed delighted to oversee the grounds.
A crimson and yellow machine, having seen better days, still gave off a certain rustic charm.
A couple of latches reminded me how the holidays can make me feel penned in. Expectations float in the air: the desire for gifts, perfection, familial love. Moving toward my inner spirit is what calms this sense of being trapped.
I passed pairs of hinges. Hmm. Such devices allow both closing and opening. Perhaps I needed to open myself to the joy the season can bring.
As I contemplated this, I became oblivious to my surroundings—until a brilliant, magical chair beckoned me to enjoy its presence. It felt like God welcoming me with open arms—a tender gesture of embrace. Isn’t that Christmas in a nutshell? The fragile vulnerability of the Christ child, arms raised, ready to be held and loved?
Winter on the Mendocino coast is unlike any previous winter I’ve experienced. Blankets of snow are replaced by buckets of rain, and slippery ice by slick mud. Temperatures hover above freezing rather than below, so litter is never swept under the rug of pristine white snowflakes until spring.
A trinity of leaves strewn over the pygmy-poor sand overlap, like family. One is heart-shaped and facing down so that its back veins protrude, forming a miniature tree.
I pass what I presume to be car parts. I am mesmerized by the way four compartments hold water and forest detritus in a rusted engine block as if this were their intended function. The inner workings of a wheel appear to be a clock telling of timelessness.
A pale greenish yellow plastic disc hidden in grass emits a yo-yo-like charm. Even though it is most likely the wheel off a cart, it reminds me how children, when unwrapping presents, often play with the boxes. How they can make dolls out of hollyhock flowers, clothespins or corn husks.
I am offered more presents as I round a bend: a halved pine cone, an axe-chewed bough—its tip an orange flame, a wooden crown fashioned by termites.
My final gifts stand under a small redwood whose needled arms hover as if in blessing. They are fairy-tale mushrooms, otherwise known as amanita muscaria, packaged in brilliant red studded with white. Their graceful gills rise upward to receive their blessing. I, too, have received mine.
Sondra Sula's Blog: The Nature of Spirituality 