A Warming Light

Eve tries not to cringe as her grandma hands her a box of random Christmas decor, "You have your own place now deary, so here take this. It's all the decor I don't have space for in my new place."

Great, Grandma’s left overs, "Thanks, Granny. I'm sure they'll come in handy. Do you want them back in January?" Eve shifts the box, getting ready to walk out the door.

“Oh no, I've loved them for years, you take them and make your own traditions." Her Granny waves her off, and the feeling that these are leftovers grows.

Eve thanks her Granny and slips out the door, trying not to be frustrated with her Granny insisting on her creating traditions, especially with the unsettling feeling that her granny had handed her a box a junk she didn't want. She tosses the box in her trunk, and for a moment, she debates simply taking it to the thrift store without ever opening the box. As she slams her car door shut, she thinks better of it. What if there’s something in that box that mom would miss or want? No, it needed to go to her apartment.

She drives through her little town, Christmas sights all around; holiday music on the radio, coloured lights flickering across her dashboard. She should be getting in the spirit of the season, but her Granny’s words replay in her mind, “make your own traditions.”

Eve hit her fist on the steering wheel. “Isn’t that what I’ve been doing for the LAST FIVE YEARS? Creating traditions, ON MY OWN? When do I get to have someone join me? When do I get to spend time gushing over cute traditions I’ve started with someone like Carol does with mom every year?” Tears of frustration prick at her eyes. Before visiting her Granny, she’d stopped by her mom's to pick up something for Gran. Carol had been over with the boys, telling Mom all about how she and Will were once again going to put the tree up, while the boys slept, so they would wake up to some Christmas magic. Eve slams the car into park with more force than is needed.

The icy walkway and stairs force her to quiet her thoughts and focus on not slipping. Taking in a breath, she opens the door to her cozy apartment, hints of Christmas starting to show. She carefully drops the dumb on the living room floor. "Might as well deal with this now. See if any of it is worth saving." She makes herself a cup of hot cocoa and grabs a few cookies; her mom is testing new cookie recipes for Christmas, so far, the toffee chocolate chip is Eve's new favourite.

She opens the box and is hit with a wave of Christmas, only it’s not the cozy smell of peppermint and cocoa that is nostalgic for her, but a stale, old Christmas smell, like something that sat in the back of the garage, forgotten about until you had to move. "Oh my gosh, Granny! How old is the box?" Eve backs away and lets the box air out for a bit before digging in. She snaps a photo of the box and texts Carol, “You are so lucky Granny doesn’t unload her junk on you and your family. This box is STALE.” Her sister sends her back a photo of the boys and the kitchen covered in chocolate syrup. Eve glances at her perfectly clean kitchen; there were perks to living alone.

After an hour, she tries again, and it's still bad, but not as bad. The first layer is old table runners and tablecloths that Eve couldn't remember ever seeing on a table. She unfolds them and finds them full of stains and holes, "What a shame, some of these are quite pretty." She goes to start a trash pile, but stops herself; her sewing machine catches her eye. She sets them aside for now.

Next, she finds some old plates that, if Eve remembers right, are from Mom's childhood. Sadly, they're in pieces, she carefully pulls out the broken parts, and sets them in the trash bin. Only one plate remains intact, a simple cream coloured plate with a red border, curved slightly. Eve isn't sure if it had warped or if it always looked like this, but something about it made her want to keep it.

She pulls out old pillow covers to make throw pillows festive; she didn't have throw pillows, so to the donate pile they go.

At the bottom of the box is a collection of tissue paper-wrapped items, "Oh boy, here we go." Her Granny, a notorious buyer of useless knick-knacks. Eve shakes her head and slowly unwraps each one. She uncovers little Christmas statues; parts to a ceramic toy train set. A set Granny definitely didn't have; in fact, Eve was positive Granny never used them in her house.

It’s a cute set, and Eve is sure she’s seen it before. She closes her eyes and runs through Christmas memories, who in her life had this train set on their mantel. Suddenly, it clicks, and she knows exactly which of her friends will appreciate it most. She finds a small box and wraps it in simple brown paper, and sets it by the door to be delivered.

Tucked under extra paper in the box, she finds a tall white pillar candle that has never been lit. "Well, I needed a new Christ candle anyway." She tidies up her living room and looks at the stained and worn fabric, "It seems wasteful to throw it all away."

She lays out each one, tracing around the holes, and squares them off. She walks those parts to the sink. Eve uses hot water and her peppermint soap to wash out both the stains at the smell. She sees some stains come out, but most don’t; they have been baked into the fabric. In rinsing out the soap, the stale Christmas smell fades, and the familiar Christmas smell returns. She uses her iron to speed up the drying process and to smooth out wrinkles. She makes smaller squares around the leftover stains. It didn't leave her with a lot of fabric, but with the right layout, it made a lovely single placemat of vintage Christmas fabrics.

The project becomes all-consuming as she lays out the small squares; her mind wanders back to her meltdown in the car. She thinks over the different traditions she's started. She has a lovely themed tree, a garland that hangs atop her bookshelf, and a wreath she decorates every year. She’d even adopted her family's tradition of having her own little Advent wreath. She pauses to glance at the wreath sitting in front of the window.

As she places pieces together, she feels the familiar sting of loneliness; she'd decorated alone again, she'd go to events alone again, and she'd go elsewhere to celebrate Christmas despite decorating her own home. Is it so wrong to want someone to celebrate with, to do those things with?

She looks at the square she's pieced together. She runs her hand over the squares. Would her life come together like this? Will she someday have a Christmas full of traditions she and someone else had made? Or could she continue build a Christmas all her own?

She finds a piece of dark green felt in her own collection and prepares to hand-sew them together. She lets a Christmas movie play in the background and gives her brain a break. Her little design takes no time at all. She binds it together. Looking at it, she finds the answer to her question: Christmas traditions are all about finding little pieces to bring together, so she will keep creating her own Christmas; she can always add someone else's in if she had the chance.

She moves to the table where her Advent wreath sits, and she carefully sets all the pieces aside. Letting her new placemat fill the table, she picks up the plate and pillar candle from Granny's and centers them on the table. She rearranges her other four smaller candles for the Sundays of Advent, making a photo-worthy display. Despite it not being Christmas Eve or a Sunday, she lights the Christ candle in the centre of her wreath. She watches the light dance on her wall. She lets herself feel the excitement for what is to come this Christmas season and the next ones after.