For my beloved bookclub this month, our hostess suggested that since we read so much we should be improving our writing and challenged us to write a Christmas memory to share at our gathering for December. I decided to post mine so my kids would get a sense of those years for me.
As a child, of course, I loved Christmas. What's not to love about Christmas as a child? You get all of the fun with none of the work and there was something particularly special and comforting in having traditions I could count on every year. Watching “It's A Wonderful Life” on Christmas Eve, trying to sleep later that night with all my siblings in my oldest brother's room, watching that clock radio taunt us with it's impossibly slow time, racing upstairs when the appointed hour FINALLY came and then waiting for another eternal stretch while my parents lit a fire and every candle imaginable, turned on tree lights and Christmas music, set up the video camera and who knows what else while we anxiously awaited in the hall, and then that dream-like moment when we were ushered in and knew right where to look (we each had a spot, mine was the rocking chair) and saw more than we'd dared hope for. We knew we had cinnamon rolls to look forward to for breakfast and a few lazy hours to play with new toys or new clothes to try on, and time to enjoy the mellowness of expectations fulfilled.
Around lunchtime, we'd head to Ogden, first to the Bells'. There would be lots of uncles and aunts and cousins and food, my particular favorite was Grandma's homemade rolls. Grandma was usually bustling around with a furrowed brow because inevitably a gift or two was always missing. You never minded if you left that day without a gift, she'd find it eventually and you mostly felt so bad about how badly she felt. For some reason I found it endearing, I guess it was evidence that my saintly Grandma was still human. Grandpa sat waiting with his cane ready to hook you in and nuzzle your cheek with his rough gray whiskers; it hurt, but it was worth it to be loved by Grandpa. Grandpa would sometimes decide a talent show was in order and insist on a command performance of some piano recital pieces or vocal solos or duets. That last thing you wanted to do was play a cheezy rendition of “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer”, and you were pretty sure it was the last thing anyone else wanted to hear, but you didn't say no to Grandpa, not because he was mean or scary – you just didn't say no to George Bell.
We never wanted to go, because usually just as we had to leave everyone was tired and punchy and ready for a quality schmooze and lots of laughing. The kind of laughing that made my Uncle Justin slap his knee so hard it had to have left a bruise. When Justin slapped his knee, you knew things were going to get good. But, it was time to head to the Barkers and once we got there we were always glad we'd come. There was another whole lot of aunts, uncles, cousins and food there too. There was always a new Christmas decoration to admire that Grandma and my aunts had created and sold at boutiques and given to friends and family. Our gifts were often homemade and always perfectly picked. One year it was a quilt with a matching flannel robe. That was the coziest blanket I've ever had. Grandpa Barker was never loud or talkative, but his eyes lit up when the family was gathered, especially when the little ones were around – they all loved him, we all did. Grandma was a gifted hostess and always energetic and fun. She knew just how she wanted everything and usually insisted we gather around the piano for a rousing rendition of “For Unto Us a Child is Born”. Sometimes Grandma, my Mom and her 2 sisters would do some of their quartet pieces, like “Silver Bells” which usually ended prematurely in giggles – a phenomena my normally good-humored Grandma never found funny.
We'd drive home filled to the brim with love and laughter and deep down you were slightly cognizant of the fact that you were completely, 100% content. We were usually quiet on the way home, just enjoying that tired happy feeling.
As much as I loved all of those traditions one year things went very differently and that's the year, the year that threatened to be the very worst Christmas, that actually stands out in my memory as being extra special. It started out the usual happy way, but then it became apparent that snow threatened to ruin our plans. It snowed and snowed and snowed on Christmas day. It snowed so much that my parents announced it was too dangerous to drive to Ogden. I was stunned. I hadn't thought it was even an option not to go to Ogden on Christmas. There were years someone was sick so one parent stayed home with that sibling, but whomever could ALWAYS went. Evidently, it was an option but I didn't see how we could celebrate Christmas without Grandparents and cousins or uncles and aunts. I was so disappointed, and what was worse is it was nobody's fault so I couldn't even be mad at anyone for ruining Christmas.
At some point I guess I quit pouting long enough to remember that I had a bounty of new things to do and fellow captives to play with. We played games and entertained each other as best we could. Later that afternoon one of my Mom's good friends, who lived down the street called and invited us and another neighboring family down to their house. We were thrilled to have somewhere to go, even though neither family had kids my age or the ages of most of my siblings, still it was something. We walked outside to the freshly powdered street. I remember we sledded down the middle of the street which felt particularly daring and rebellious, but there wasn't a car in sight. We laughed and slid all the way down to the Hess's house.
There we were met with warmth and hospitality and a general sense of merriment. We saw these people every week at church and probably most days around the neighborhood, but we were specially grateful to have familiar friendly faces to gather with. We were truly happy to be together. It was a cozy, merry evening that more than filled the void I had thought would prevail that night.
When it was time to leave, we did so in our traditional tired, happy quiet. It wasn't just our normally rowdy family that was quiet, EVERYTHING was still. There was no hustle and no bustle. Everything for as far as we could see was beautifully blanketed in a soft white comforter. It seemed to cover the noise and the busyness as much as it physically covered everything in it's reach. Everything except the softened glow of Christmas lights on all the houses. None of us spoke, I think even at our young ages we felt a sense of reverence and majesty for the scene around us and for the warmth inside us. The snow shimmered from the light of the big bright moon above us, and the tree branches gently and gracefully danced under the weight of the snow. As we arrived home I'm not sure I was conscious of it, but on some level, I had learned what made Christmas so special. It wasn't a magical, mystical spirit that appears when coaxed by following a precise recipe of tradition. It is the essence of Christ, the purity of that particular newborn baby King, who came and left this earth in perfect love that makes Christmas so special. When ever we gather as friends and family in love and remember Him, and thank God for Him, we will always have the merriest of Christmases.
