Home for Christmas

For the first time in nine years, I have a Christmas tree. A real one, not one concocted out of stacked books and a few well-placed ornaments. I'm in my own cozy place, not camping out as a visitor, and watching my own Christmas DVDs, surrounded by my own books and all the Christmas cards that have come my way. Because for the first time in nine years, my home is where my family is. My stuff doesn't reside a 800 miles away. I am home for Christmas.

Do I miss the crazy splendor of New York at Christmas? Yes, of course. I haven't seen the trees at Rockefeller Plaza and The Met. I find myself wondering about the theme for the windows at Bergdorf's and Sak's. The holiday markets at Union Square and Grand Central had to do without me this year.

But I got to attend pageant rehearsals, Christmas programs, and holiday family outings spread out over the month of December, rather than being packed into 3-4 hurried days. I've baked Christmas cookies with Liam in my own little kitchen and watch Charlotte yank on the ornaments at the bottom of my tree. I've gotten to catch up with dear friends at a party or two. And none of it involved the purchase of an airline ticket.

In short, I'm back in the fold of family and community. It feels good. It feels right. I love New York and always will, but my place and my heart are here. At home. For the holidays and beyond.

Merry, Merry Christmas!