Not that I'm happy about that, by any means. Christmas has always been, to me, at least, as Scrooge's nephew noted, "...a good time; a kind, forgiving, charitable pleasant time; the only time I know of, in the long calendar of the year, when men and women seem by one consent to open their shut-up hearts freely, and to think of people below them as if they really were fellow-passengers to the grave, and not another race of creatures bound on other journeys." (Note: ACOC "moderators" apparently don't go along with this, although they have left me alone for a while now).
Christmas brings back memories of my youth as though they happened just the other day. My brother always got the cool stuff, from guns to, once, a live iguana that we found crawling around in the Christmas tree as ornaments crashed to the ground.
Oh, I got cool stuff too, but most things I can barely remember. I suppose the best things I took away from Christmases past have been memories, which have faded a bit with time but which will never disappear the way old Christmas toys do. It's why cinnamon is still my favorite spice, and why I call vanilla extract "the secret ingredient" -- Katie now calls it that as she helps me bake things -- because these smells conjure up memories of my mom as she got ready for Christmas.
My father always said that "Christmas is for kids," but I don't believe that my mother felt the same way. After we all went our separate ways and were no longer at home for Christmas, my dad's sole contribution to the season was to stick a cardboard tree up on the wall in lieu of an actual tree. I think he realized, when we had him to our house for a Christmas after my mom had died, that he should have taken her feeling into account more than just celebrating his own curmudgeonly tendencies.
My mother instilled a love of Christmas in me, entwined with stories of the Nativity (even though she wasn't a religious woman, she had no doubt what we were celebrating at Christmas, and was sure that we all knew what the holiday was about) and with Santa Claus. Life was different then: when we went to bed on Christmas Eve, the living room was normal, that is, no tree, no decorations (other than any cards my parents might have received, a Nativity scene, and our stockings -- big olive-green jobs left over from my dad's service during WW2) hung on the screen by the fireplace). When we woke up in the morning we found a veritable wonderland: huge floor-to-ceiling tree, covered with lights, tinsel (the real metal stuff) and candy canes; at the other end of the room a big Lionel train was roaring around a track (I've never figured out the train-under-the-tree thing; no room for presents if that had happened). Yep, except for the train, which Santa kindly assembled for my dad every year, Santa brought everything, including the tree. I make it easier for him these days and supply the tree myself, but I often think about how astonishing it was for me when Santa Claus did it all.
My daughter, I hope, will be brought up with my love of Christmas, and will pass it on to her kids. As long as I am around, I hope to pass on traditions to her, or at least preferences (notably big lights and tinsel -- none of those wimpy twinkle lights for me, and for God's sake a REAL tree as opposed to those plastic things).
My mother passed on Christmas baking to me, which my wife is very pleased about, and I look forward to that part of the season, too. Katie, I have a feeling, will be helping me out more and more as the years go by.
The most wistful time of the season begins, for me, at the moment the last present is unwrapped and the wrappings have been disposed of. "What now?" I think. All the buildup to Christmas is done away with in a flash, and I realize that it will be another whole year before we see the holiday again. It's sad in a way, but a relief to my wallet, to know that I won't have to worry about unique presents for a year (or paying for them). My daughter was so upset, two weeks before Christmas, crying that Christmas was still too far away; I wonder if she has begun to think how far away it is NOW.
Oh, well, it was a good one. And it gives me something to look forward to again, as it does every year. And, as Tiny Tim observed: God bless us, everyone.
