Holiday Dinner

At a birthday this weekend, a bunch of us sat around the table with coffee and cake retelling old stories. These are the best days, when everyone is talking and laughing together. This time, though, instead of just following along, I found myself asking direct questions and trying to get the details right. I’ve heard many of these stories before, and it’s high time I did something about it.

I told everyone that I really should write some of their stories, which fueled the conversation that much more. So I asked leading questions. They talked; I listened. And much like listening to music, I heard notes—notes of humor and haunting and questioning. I heard chords of strength and resilience and love.

Around the table is where some of the best stories are told. It’s where, if given a little room to maneuver, we pause for dramatic effect, where we work up the details to make everyone laugh, where we build to a crescendo. It’s where we become storytellers.

This week, as we careen toward the crazy holidays, there’s no need to stress over the what’s done and what’s not done and who will be sitting next to whom. There’s no need to dread being too social or too solitary. Anybody can worry about that junk; let them. As for you, consider yourself on assignment. Whether you’re alone in a crowd or with a table full of people, listen to what’s being said--and what’s being held back.

Personally, I’m planning to have myself a writerly little Christmas. Remember your uncle’s ghost story told over donuts and coffee? That should go in a book. Remember when your sister declared it her year for populating the manger scene with your nephews? That should go in a book. Remember when a total stranger next to you at the pub told you step-by-step how to pick a lock and then proceeded to eat all your fries? That should—well, you get the picture.

These really are the best days.