of gingerbread boys and jam
i think it’s the darkness of a december morning that i especially love. darkness on the other side of the panes. a blanket of black. inside, so many little lights. especially on this, the feast of santa lucia, yet another miracle of light here in the passage of deepest darkness. it is especially enchanted here on maple lane because we have our own home-grown lucia, a beauty of a now-16-year-old, golden-haired girl. with the trail of swedish princesses and tomten behind her, she dons the candle-lit wreath and breaks open the darkness with her swanlike promenade, sidewalk to street to sidewalk, icicles some years practically dripping from her nose. she is undeterred by anything. if the calendar reads “13 december,” she is under the wreath, she is walking, white robe flowing. and so, as my little tedd awoke this morn, i exclaimed, “it’s santa lucia day.” ever trying to delight him into eating, i offered bread and jam and cheese; “swedish,” i said, spinning. and without skipping a beat, he darted toward the cookie cutter cupboard and insisted, “cut in gingerbread shapes.” but of course. and so, with the blanket of darkness just beyond the panes, we cut out oat bread into gingerbread boys, and dressed them thickly with raspberry pants and raspberry sweaters. to keep the cold away.