Chalking The Door


Chalking the Door
The year encloses initials for the three wise men: Caspar, Melchior and Balthazar

 A number of years ago, while visiting Germany, my exchange daughter and I were walking around her neighborhood in the lovely town of Sehlem.  My attention was caught by markings over nearly every front door. Claudia explained the tradition (not in these very words, but close).  The Christian custom of chalking the door has a biblical precedent as the Israelites in the Old Testament marked their doors in order to be saved from death; likewise, the Epiphanytide practice serves to protect Christian homes from evil spirits until the next Epiphany Day, at which time the custom is repeated.  In Sehlem, the tradition was carried out by the children, who went door to door to mark the houses. 

The next Epiphany, I chalked my front door and continued the tradition through 2023.  I always thought of Olivia and Eleanor, my German granddaughters, as I etched 20+C+M+B+23 while I made the mark.

This holiday season, I've been experiencing PMSD--Post Move Stress Disorder.  It began seeping in mid-September, when the apartment complex pool closed for the season and the creeping coolness of fall made it less desirable to sit outdoors.  Yes, I did decorate the apartment for the holidays, managing to find space for all 6 trees.  We and the grandchildren very much enjoyed the seasonal trappings.  Yet I couldn't help but think it would be nice(r) if we had a house (townhouse/villa/main level living) where I could have spread out the decorations as opposed to compacting them.  How much easier it would be for Dan if we had a backyard where we could tie out Benny when the dog wants to go out, as opposed to bundling up and taking him either outside or to the dog run.  

This was the first Christmas in 50 years that was not celebrated in my house.  I'm not certain if the adult children conducted a spirited round of rock, paper, scissors to determine where our Christmas together would be held, but in the end, we all gathered at my son He Who Must Not Be Named's house.  Everyone pitched in; I hauled over some of my Christmas dishes; it was beyond lovely.  I must have had a look of concern on my face at some point, because one of my daughters asked if this was hard for me, standing on the sidelines. Not really but it did feel decidedly different not to be the Matriarch in the Kitchen, where I marshalled the event.  My hope was that our family be together and we support our family traditions.  That's precisely what occurred and I couldn't ask for anything more.  

After all, aren't we of the older generation always saying it's time for the kids to take over?

But, would I have liked--not preferred, simply liked--to be the Grand Marshall of the Christmas Parade in my house?  Yes.  Maybe next year.

Today I un-Christmased our apartment but living here will preclude chalking the door.  If you haven't ever done this, put 20+C+M+B+24 above your front door for me. We could all use a little protection from the evil spirits out there.


 

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