There's a chunk of driftwood on the top of a set of drawers in the corner of my bedroom. The drawers start out large on the bottom and then narrow towards the top. The drawers are not deep enough for clothes. But there are a few scarves in the larger ones. There's a basket of junk in one of the middle sized drawers. It's a nice basket filled with the extra buttons, threads and beads that come with clothing made by fine manufacturers.
It's a unique piece of furniture. The dark brown wood silhouette resembles the "Dr. Seuss" lamp next to it, on the left. The clay lamp starts out large and chunky, purple and full of holes like Swiss cheese poking out from the inside. The top becomes narrow. It wear a square lampshade like a hat. The lamp, the drawers and a piece of driftwood make up my own little corner.
Last night, the driftwood grew a string of dust. That' why I noticed it. Forced air heat throws a lot of dust compared to the old clunking radiators I'm used to. So I blew it off. I don't want to be to rough with the arrangement within the driftwood knot because it's rather delicate after all these years. It was a Christmas gift - born of the heart and the lack of money given to me a long, long time ago.
I cherished then, I cherish it now.
There was a Christmas, though, about midway between here and now that I almost threw it in the fireplace. But something stopped me. I think it was the wood itself. A large darkened chunk of old wood, wash smooth by the river. There's a handle of wood coming out from one side like the handle of a small saucepan. The person who gave it to me must have loved that piece of wood and carried home. Since giving someone a chunk of driftwood for Christmas doesn't seem quite right, he took it to a florist. For a small sum, someone added some dried pods, tiny little cattails, some curly grass and a green stem with tiny green leaves. They are still green after all these years even if the moss at the bottom has faded some.
That winter was very cold. Christmas Eve was no exception. Of course, I went to early services that night. My children were at their dad's house. One of my friends invited me over. I said that's okay. Whenever I was home alone on a special occasion I treated myself to whatever expensive goodies I couldn't afford to buy for the whole family. Besides, why would I want to celebrate my first Christmas alone with a family that seemed so put together. It only reminded me of my loss.
Sometime later that evening I got a call from a friend of mine who said to me, "If you don't believe, you don't receive."
Then he said he's not going to the late church service because it was too darn cold out. I stayed home that night, but I wasn't alone. Santa showed up at the door with that piece of driftwood in hand. I'm remembering that was the only gift that Christmas.
It was a tender evening. We didn't say much, both of us had lost our families that year to divorce. There wasn't much celebrating, but maybe a bit more healing about the evening.
As I dusted, which later made me sneeze, there was a longing for that kind of Christmas in my life. Uncomplicated, accepting, quiet and filled with hope. A Christmas Eve, dark and simple, decorated with stars. That gift was simply what Christmas is all about.
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