December memories, the winter solstice, and calm holidays

How I try to recapture the magic of Christmas with my simple, non-religious, quiet celebrations.

Of all the seasonal celebrations, the winter solstice - also called Yule or midwinter - is my favourite one.

It has a magical quality that originates in my childhood, when I still believed in the existence of enchanted sleighs, other-worldly reindeers, and an elderly white-bearded man dressed in red with a miraculous, ubiquitous nature that allowed him to deliver gifts - or charcoal - to children all over the world, in just one night.

To me, the whole month of December was special.

Light displays appeared everywhere, especially in the city centre. A canopy of string lights and evergreen boughs decorated the high street, leading to a massive tree standing in the main square.

I remember walking along that street, holding my parents' hands, eyes sparkling with excitement, craning my neck and twisting from side to side to take it all in - the decorations, the shop windows turned into winter wonderlands, the piles of panettone and other traditional cakes in the cafés and patisseries, and the tree, glittering with light and jewel-like baubles. And all around, the sweet smell of roast chestnuts wafting through the air.

For the whole month, I was in a constant state of wonder, excitement, and joyful anticipation of Christmas day, and the unexplainable appearance of presents under the tree.

I was brought up as a Catholic, so my mum would place a nativity scene close to the tree, with the hut sitting on a bucolic landscape made of moss and coloured paper, and figurines of shepherds, assorted animals, and the three kings.

I didn't much care for the nativity scene, but I absolutely adored the tree.

One of my grandmothers had gorgeous glass blown decorations - shiny stars, little birds, and baubles in many colours and sizes that made her tree sparkle with enchantment, and filled me with awe.

I wish I had at least one of those decorations to remind me of my granny, but their fragile nature didn't survive my and my brother's enthusiastic handling.

I loved the whole experience of gift-giving: from searching for the perfect little thing that my pocket money could buy and would please my loved ones the most, to spending a whole afternoon writing cards and wrapping up presents with paper, ribbons, glitter, and hand-made tags, and finally placing gifts under the tree on Christmas Eve.

On that evening, my brother and I would prepare a plate of biscuits and a cup of coffee for Santa, and then go to bed with the intention to stay awake and catch him delivering our presents. We never did, obviously.

We would get up early in the morning, rush to the tree, and forget our brief disappointment of missing Santa the moment we spotted the empty coffee cup, biscuits crumbs on the table, and presents under the tree - sure proof that he was real, and magic was too.

My brother would tear into the wrapping paper, eager to find out what each box contained.

I took great care to untie the ribbon, lift the sellotape, and unfold the paper without breaking it, to prolong the experience and the feeling of anticipation.

Then came a visit to our grandparents, a lush dinner with many cakes and chocolates, and time spent playing and watching uplifting movies.

I also remember how deflated I felt after the day was over, knowing that I would have to wait a whole year for the next celebrations, and how utterly devastated I was when I discovered that Santa didn't actually exist.

The only silver lining was to finally understand that the few simple presents my brother and I received, comparing to our well-off friends, wasn't a reflection of how good, or naughty, we'd been.

Even when I stopped believing in Santa, December remained a favourite month, and Christmas a beloved holiday.

As a teenager, I developed critical thinking and rejected religion. I tried to reconcile my love for Christmas with my non-religious beliefs, and kept celebrating it as an end-of-the-year feast.

When I came across the wheel of the year, I embraced its seasonal festivals, and created my own Yule rituals and traditions.

I consider myself a pagan - a person who doesn't believe in any authoritarian religion, has a deep reverence for the natural world, and believes in a creative force present all around us, in nature, and also within us. I call it Spirit, or sometimes the Universe, but that's just a name I give to this divine energy, this breath of life.

I celebrate the eight festivals of the wheel of the year, in my own way, creating adaptable rituals that resonate with my values, personality, and vision of the world.

At the core of my Yule celebrations there's the desire to recapture the magic of childhood, honour the cycles of nature, spend time with my loved ones of all species, and reflect on the year that's just passed, and the coming one.

Recently a friend told me that hearing how I celebrate Yule was liberating, and inspired her to celebrate in her own way, without following conventions.

She made my day.

I believe in individuality and diversity, and every time someone listens to their inner voice and uses it as a guide for living a life aligned with their values, my heart soars - one more beautiful light shining in the world.

So how do I celebrate the December festivities?

My celebrations are not tied to one day.
They start on the winter solstice, which in the northern hemisphere this year is on the 22nd December, and end on the 1st of January.

They include decorations, special dishes that I only prepare for the holidays, walks in the countryside, books, naps, an exchange of simple gifts with my husband, and quality time with furry companions, a few friends, and each other.

Travelling around Christmas is a nightmare, so we exchange texts and video calls with our families.

As much as I love to celebrate Yule, I also want to feel calm and relaxed, so I tend to keep things simple and let go of anything that stresses me out.

The decorations

I decorate the house in a pared down way, with fairy lights, candles, wreaths, foraged branches, pine cones, rose hips, holly, mistletoe if I can find it, and any other bits I can forage in the hedgerows.

I'm not that dexterous, so often all I do is just put everything in vases or other containers, unless I feel particularly inspired and willing to tackle a more complicated project.

Most fairy lights stay for the whole year, just because their soft, twinkling light always makes me smile.

I usually have a tree of sorts, but in the last two years I had to let it go, because my young cat Suki kept attacking the baubles.

I have a feeling our enthusiastic, inquisitive kitten might follow in her footsteps, so there probably won't be a tree this year either - only decorations placed out of reach of playful paws.

I decorate the kitchen and living area, and the front door. Sometimes I do the windows too, depending on the mood and the time I have - I want to enjoy the decorating too, without any pressure.

The food

The Christmas dinner of my childhood was gargantuan, the Italian way - lots of nibbles and appetisers, several pasta dishes, meat and fish, roast potatoes, salads and other veggies, and then cheeses, nuts, dry fruit, and an abundance of sweet things, from panettone to other traditional cakes, chocolates, and cookies.

The whole meal was a loud affair, with at least ten people gathered around the table, chatting and feasting on all that food, and leftovers to last us many days.
In the afternoon we were all in a kind of food coma, and yet in the evening there was another meal.

This feast was to be repeated, on a slightly smaller scale, on the 26th.

My plant-based celebratory meals are way simpler, and quieter, than that.

Every year, supermarkets start selling traditional festive food earlier and earlier - I spotted gingerbread and stollen on the shelves at the end of September, and here in France they actually sell panettone all year long.

I find this sad.

Having access to seasonal food throughout the year makes it ordinary, and diminishes the pleasure derived from eating it.

For this reason, we don’t eat any traditional cakes before the winter solstice, when we start the holidays and mince pie season officially begins.

The first bite of mince pie always puts a smile on my face and reminds me that winter is here, just like the first ripe strawberry tells me that summer is close, and roast pumpkin heralds the arrival of autumn.

By holding off eating mince pies I give myself the gift of anticipation, which is what makes anything, not just food, truly special. I also save my sweet-toothed self from eating too much sugar, which my body appreciates.

On Christmas day, which is a national holiday in all the countries my husband and I have lived, we exchange simple gifts - mostly books - and have a nice dinner, just us or occasionally a friend or two.

I like to decorate the table with a special runner, candles, and some greenery.

I usually prepare a mushroom and walnut pâté or a faux-gras as a starter, and a mushroom Wellington as the main dish, with roast or dauphinoise potatoes, Brussels sprouts with tofu bacon bits, and sometimes roast parsnips and carrots with maple syrup and pecan nuts.

By the time we've eaten a small portion of each dish, we have no room left for dessert, so we hold off until the late afternoon to feast on mince pies, ricciarelli, vegan panettone, orangettes, and mulled wine.

On the 26th we usually meet with a couple of friends for drinks and nibbles, and then we have another celebratory meal on New Year's Day.

I always make enough for leftovers, so my husband and I can eat something special for the whole holidays, without the need to spend hours in the kitchen.

The activities

We usually take some time off work at the end of December, so we can spend lots of quality time together.

We go for long walks in the countryside, read by the fire, take naps, watch movies, play with the kitties, and enjoy each other's company, with no fixed plans - we like to keep it all spontaneous, calm, and easy.

The rituals

On the winter solstice, the day stands still.

This is the shortest day and the longest night of the year, but it’s also a turning point that sees the start of a new waxing phase of the seasonal cycle.

Nature is resting, darkness is at its peak, but the energy shifts towards light, and new beginnings.

In the deepest darkness, the light is reborn, and heralds new growth to come.

From now on, days will slowly lengthen, until the summer solstice and the longest day of the year.

This is the day I usually decorate the front door wreath, the tree, and the rest of the house.

I then light a candle to celebrate the sun's return - my take on the ancient tradition of burning a Yule log.

I spend some time in intentional silence, to celebrate the stillness of winter, cultivate inner quietness, and tune in to my intuition.

I end the ritual by ringing a bell, to welcome the energy of this new phase of the seasonal cycle, then I place the lit candle by a window and let it burn to a stub, that I keep to light the next winter solstice candle from, as a symbol of life's cycles.

Even though the energy is shifting and we’re heading towards longer days, these liminal days are the perfect time to pause and do some self-reflection.

My husband thinks best when he's moving, so he goes for solitary walks, and lets nature help him access his inner world.

I light lots of candles, make myself endless cups of tea, and write in my journal, to reflect on the current year and dream up the new one.

This is a ritual that starts at Yule and continues throughout winter - a time for introspection.

I write to remember the main experiences of the last twelve months, observe all the changes I've been through, and all the feelings, emotions, accomplishments, failures, and inner growth.

This self-contemplation is essential to become aware of new aspects of my evolving self, discover my needs and desires, and figure out what I'd like to experience and manifest in the new year.

An invitation

My winter celebrations are uncomplicated, tranquil, and soul-nourishing - slow living at its best.

In my attempt to recapture the magic of childhood, I'm also quietly rebelling against consumerism, waste, forced cheerfulness, and anything else that's fast-paced, shallow, and fake.

During our time together, my husband and I have had many pleasant, joyful holidays, but also times of sadness and heartache.

This time of the year can be challenging, exhausting, and detrimental to mental health.

According to commercials, ads, magazines, social media, and society in general, everyone is supposed to have fun, be merry, and have a wonderful time, shopping and feasting until we drop.

Exposed to all the noise and pressure to be happy, many people struggle, overwhelmed and stressed out, in pursuit of the "perfect Christmas", whilst others suffer because of losses and loneliness.

For me, the true meaning of the December celebrations is to express gratitude for all my blessings, small and great, and to honour the wonders of life, with its continuous cycle of ebb and flow.

This means also honouring my personal energy cycles, and recognising that rest is essential for wellbeing - just like winter, when nature sleeps, lays the foundations for all the spring activity.

So I'm ending this long essay with an invitation to follow nature's example and slow down.

An invitation to pause, rest, and celebrate the holidays with rituals based on your values and beliefs - religious or not - without any external obligations.

An invitation to let go of the pressure to be merry at all costs, and simplify your life.

I wish that you can find the strength, and courage, to respect and honour your needs, and turn the holidays into a calm, easy, nourishing time.

Peace and blessings to you all, and see you in the new year.

P.S. Below is a list of some favourite recipes for a plant-based celebratory meal.

Mushroom & walnut pâté
Faux gras
Mushroom Wellington
Roasted Brussel sprouts with tofu bacon bits
Dauphinoise potatoes
Maple syrup & pecan roast carrots