Penombra – A Yuletide Memory

Penombra-Italian for dim light; it is the time between the deep slumber of the night and the arising consciousness of the morning when a different reality can unfold in very sharp images. For me it is when I peer into a “periscope”of my past. I am six and snuggled comfortably in the crook of my father’s arm on the couch. His melodic voice and laughter fill the entire room, and I am so very loved, safe, and protected. The impeccably trimmed Christmas tree reaches to the ceiling, and the brightly colored packages are placed strategically under its branches. My heart pounds faster and faster as I anticipate opening them that evening. I go to pick up the small silky pink crib with a miniature Jesus lying atop it, a relic of my mother’s youth, and now, mine. I love the smooth feel of it in my hands. My slightly older brother lies sprawled on the floor, counting, sorting, and resorting the gifts we each have. As he does so, unable to sit quietly for very long, he “clucks” loudly by pressing his tongue to the roof of his mouth. The resulting noise of course does not go unnoticed by the oldest sibling, our sister, who is reclining comfortably on the golden colored love seat, legs drawn up to her chest. In one breath, she admonishes him to “cease and desist,” and in another, she speaks calmly and happily to our father about anything that comes to mind: politics, family, and values, and there is a steady stream of Italian and English conversation.

In the kitchen I can hear my mother, a true culinary artist, flit from one corner to another, creating her Yuletide masterpieces. Familiar tantalizing aromas emanate throughout the house – to every room. I can almost taste her specialty – my favorite- annolini, small, ring sized, stuffed pasta in homemade broth. The table is festively set for Christmas Eve and the soon-to-arrive guests.

I “revel” in my dream without eating the food my mother has made – without the arrival of the guests, or the opening of the gifts. My brother’s hyperactivity continues as do the discussions between my sister and my father. It is the importance of being with my family – of being loved and cared for that leaves me feeling “at peace” when I finally reach complete consciousness into my present reality. It is about the moments of any life when all is right, even after the glitter of the holiday fades.