Christmas Eve in Washington

I'm sitting here in a suburban Maryland Panera, having finished my cream of chicken soup, and thinking of this Christmas eve. I really left town in 1968, and it took me a while to begin looking back. In the interim, my few friends have moved away and I've lost track of them. For years now, my sister, my brother, my mom and I have been the Christmas ensemble. My sister isn't coming this year—family obligations in Texas. Mom is in an assisted living place, so visiting her is a matter of popping in, chatting for a while, then leaving. No tree there. No tree at my brother's either. He and his wife don't do much to observe Christmas.

This will be the first Christmas since 1996 that I'll miss Christmas Eve at Northwood Presbyterian. That wasn't my church when I was growing up, but it was Mom and Dad's so we always went there. Maybe I'll pull myself away from brother and sister-in-law to go over there. The folks at Northwood would certainly welcome me. There were years that I was a more frequent attender there than at my church in Mansfield.

It's been very odd. Some things about this very changeable town change very slowly. I bought granddaughters a couple of small items at Appalachian Spring, a store that's been here for at least 15 years. Not only that, but the items in the store seem to be unchanged too. Great quality stuff, but I'm surprised they still have exactly what they had so long ago. People back home asked me if I intend to go to National Cathedral or to the big tree on the Ellipse. Not really. I'm not into fighting traffic, and the journey would be alone.

More than ever before, I have a sense of saying goodbye. Where's home? Is it Washington? Really?

One key to answering the question "Where's home?" is church. For the longest time in Ohio, I felt like a sojourner, like the only lost Narnian in modern middle America, accidentally trapped in a group of tea-party Baptists. That's changed. The Episcopal church, warts and all, is a very definite part of my identity now, so I really do have roots of a sort. Another part of the "home" answer is that I think I've learned to survive. Yes, the broad, ugly suburban streets are incredibly familiar to me, as is the incessant traffic, but I know how to make it in Ohio. And my circle of friends expands too. I sent out 40+ Christmas cards this year, double what I did just a few years ago.

Maybe the day will come when I'm just a common tourist to DC again. I think so.