Simple Joys of Christmas

 

This year, Christmas Eve found me at home, and although no sugarplums danced in my head, I snuggled down in my flannel sheets and dreamed of Christmas Past.  Christmas Eve with family had been cancelled due to the vengeance of a miserable cold unleashed upon the 2 year old. But despite that, just like the Whos in Whoville, who celebrated their holiday without their trees, and gifts, I found a profound sense of wonder and anticipation. I drew family memories around me like a cozy afghan and remembered.

On Christmas Eve, when I was 4 or 5, I got the distinct and unusual privilege of bedding down with my sister overnight, upstairs in her bedroom. Elaine was 9 years older and didn't suffer a bratty sister in her personal space gladly. So to be awarded this boon was a gift without compare. I can remember her gentle breaths as she slept; I was too excited to join her in dreamland. 

Somehow, the night would pass and we'd be invited downstairs. Santa had come and my gifts, unwrapped, had been displayed for maximum impact; everything all at once. What to play with first? 

And then it was time to check our stockings, laden with exotic nuts and fresh oranges. It seems hard to believe in today's global market but an orange in December was a rare and beautiful thing. They weren't as widely available and if they were found, they could be expensive and perhaps not the pick of the crop.  I'm sure our stocking oranges came from the same lot of oranges that went into as Mama's ambrosia. I can hear her call it "food of the Gods" as she brought it to the table. 

Then, of course, the date nut cake which necessitated my teetotaling mother's trip to the liquor store. The cake was always much anticipated or much shunned; I consistently fell in the later group.  

As my memories of the years gone by blurred in my memory, many stills presented themself for my inspection. 

-The year our Christmas tree held a nest of praying mantises. They hatched, peppering our ceiling with tiny black, moving dots. They were everywhere, including in my paternal grandma's wig! 

-The year our chimney caught on fire on the day we were to attend the family Christmas party in Virginia.   Instead of toasting our family for the holidays, we hosted our galant Seaboard Volunteer Fire Department who wrangled a creosote fire into submission.. Damage, but recoverable. A forgotten item had forced us to return to the house, thereby saving it. 

-Every year, Dad's good friend, Mr. Bill Davis, paid a visit.  He would bring me card with a crisp dollar bill inside. One year, he brought me a Mary Poppins doll. As a father of three boys, I always felt he appreciated the relative calm our home offered on Christmas morning. 

- As I grew older, I remember our family visiting the Ramseys. Fran was a year older and I idolized her. We played Barbies and rode minibikes. An interesting combo. One Christmas in particular, I took my new Barbie and managed to accidentally snap her arm off at the shoulder. Yikes - I was heartsick, but my blond doll was beautiful. She just managed to have a disability. 

-Older still, the kids of my hometown would hit the streets on our bikes, ranging from house to house to see what the man in the red suit had brought. Battleships, bikes, BB guns, basketballs. Eventually the mother of all Christmas presents, PONG. 

It strikes me that the toys in those days weren't fads. They were tried and true. They lasted. Monopoly was as fun for me as it was when Mom had it as a girl. Dolls, yes, there were new ones each year, like my Newborn Baby Thumbelina, but they had staying power. And so many games - Mousetrap, Rook, Sorry, Parcheesi, games that brought people together, instead of isolating them on a new device. 

My nephews were born when I was 13 and then 15, so I have many good memories of their Christmas mornings. The day after Christmas, Western Auto in Roanoke Rapids always had a 50 percent off sale.  Mama and Daddy and I would hustle my paternal grandma into the car at the crack of dawn and head to wait in line in the cold for the doors to open to buy gifts for the boys for the next year. Once the lock was turned,  it was a free-for-all! Mom was not even 5 feet tall and she would stand guard over our stacks of gifts which sometimes reached higher than she was tall as my parents and I tried to grab the best for next year. The anticipation for the next Christmas began on the spot. 

What I'm trying to remind myself is that Christmas was simpler then. And though I love the advances of our modern age (tech, tech, and more tech) I think we owe to ourselves to try to slow down a bit. To really appreciate and thrive in the moment. Make some hot tea. Read hardback books. Print photos and dwell on them instead of swiping hurriedly past on our phones. Make Christmas decorations. Cook at home. Climb off the treadmill and take a walk. Sit with yourself. Sit with your God. Dwell in that moment. 

And if you get the chance, eat an orange. Savor the combination of sweet and tangy. Think about what a marvel it is to bite into its juicy goodness when it is 26 degrees outside. Taste. Think. Be. 

Happy New Year!