Where Happiness
Snows
Christmas /21

WHY WILL EVERYTHING BE THIS WAY?

When I first loudly voiced the idea that “happened” after a storm of thoughts during a short, sleepless night… I got a lot of raised eyebrows.

“A garage? For Christmas?” — reactions poured in from those not terribly impressed with my “grand” idea.

Jumping out of bed after just a few hours of sleep, but… with the “perfect idea” in my pocket, and after a shrug from the team, I landed on the ground.
And soon I stepped into the ground floor of the house — my husband’s “oasis.”

I looked around.
Maybe not much… I caught myself thinking.

His “gym cycles,” family bicycles, tires, lots of helmets, pads, tools, a crazy number of colorful oil bottles, dog leashes, lawnmower, spade, broom…
And jars of jams and pickled cucumbers…
“Not Instagrammable,” I shook off.

But at night… everything there looked beautiful and Christmasy to me.

Lowering my nose below the ground floor level… I sneaked back into the house.
I brewed coffee.
And decided that, until my idea was finally deemed a “failure,” I would still call Erika.

The photographer with whom I’ve worked for years… we speak the exact same language of beauty and coziness.
After hearing my vision in one breath, after a short pause, I heard through the phone:
“Okay… I see it.”

In our home, the garage is exclusively my husband’s “oasis.”
When we were setting up our new family “nest,” we agreed he wouldn’t interfere with my wardrobe issues and I would never encroach on his space.
I promised: don’t touch the garage, never,
don’t tidy, don’t decorate, don’t freshen it up, don’t rearrange where things go,
and introduce no feminine logic — because there’s none to be had there.

And then morning came — “happened” after deep reflection — when I got the second YES: my vision for this year’s photoshoot was good.

“We’ll shoot Christmas in your garage,” I messaged my husband.

The reply took a pause — probably a search for the right words, reminding him of his promise that I would “never” invade the Men’s Cave.

But God gave me a calm husband.
So after the pause, my eyes received only a subtle, carefully phrased reply:
“Nothing beautiful in there…”

“Maybe not yet,” I thought, “but my dear, you have no idea how to turn ‘nothing’ into ‘something.’”

And so I rolled up my sleeves.

That very day, I called an uncle who was selling an old wooden cabinet online.
Soon, I was in the garage, arranging traffic to make space for the new furniture.
Then came the rug, shelves, and garage-appropriate garlands.
Add Christmas wreaths and small trees… the scene began to resemble the image in my mind… but it still lacked coziness.

“After a hundred tweaks,” I stood scrunching my nose, “do I have to admit that the imagined coziness still needs SOMETHING? And the worst part — I don’t even know what.”

“Beautiful,” I murmured, “but that narrow window… it ruins the view…”

Then came my husband’s sigh.
Deep.
And saving.
And a suggestion I immediately agreed to:

Next came finding firewood.
Then bringing it into the garage.
Then stacking it.
Then realizing that stacking logs of the same thickness left ugly gaps, showing the covered window.
Then unloading the wood again.
Then matching thinner logs with thicker ones.
Then stepping back for a critical review:
“The logs are beautiful, but these freshly cut ones are yellow, and the older ones are brown.”

“We can age them,” my husband suggested.
Soon, each log was being “aged” in his hands.
And then stacked again, in their perfect place.

The work was finished late Sunday evening.
The log wall was complete.

When everything was finally in place… and the garlands plugged in with ceremonial “three, two, one”…
The Men’s Cave… became unrecognizable:

Freshly baked gingerbread, a tray of sweets, still-warm homemade cranberry jelly… overpowered the smell of gasoline and oil.
And cozily “settled” on the newly made and painted “Christmas kiosk” counter, crafted by Santa’s hands (aka my husband).
In the corners of the garage settled Lithuanian green trees with their indescribable scent.
And in the “center of events,” like a medal, hung a thick, cozy Christmas wreath adorned with pine cones.

“I still have Mom’s big knitted blanket,” I remembered aloud.
And soon I was arranging it over the newly arrived vintage cabinet.

Everything. Nothing was missing from the sleepless-night mental image.
It was cozy and insanely warm.

Well… maybe just a wink at my husband and a quiet apology for the “Christmas nativity scene” set up in the place… I had promised I would never enter.
Never.

Looking around at the objects lovingly crafted by my favorite people…
I thought:
“And again, Christmas happened. From the heart.”

Breaking my own promises,
and setting up a “Christmas nativity scene,”
in the very place it should never have been.

V.