Remembering Christmas… the early years

With a special thanks to Mom, Dad and the rest of my family, immediate and extended,  for making these memories possible.

I don't remember much about any particular childhood Christmases. I don't remember any particular gifts except a wind up tank with big rubber treads that seemed, at least to my young imagination, capable of going anywhere. When I was a teenager I said I wanted a Corvette. I got bronze colored one that fit in the palm of my hand. Other than that, gifts apparently didn’t make a “Lasting Impression.”

I visualize a montage Christmas, like a patchwork quilt made of many memories, sewn together with the thread of time by gentle, caring hands to keep you warm for a lifetime. The memories are sweet and joyful and filled with love. Christmas was a time for family and friends, caring and sharing, laughter and reflection. The material aspects were truly the very least important. I loved everything about it because it made you feel good about yourself and those around you. I feel good now, just remembering the way it was.

I remember family and friends. It was a time when our extended families, Grandparents from both sides of the family, aunts and uncles and cousins and friends joined together and shared laughter and joy. Problems and differences were set aside and replaced by love and hugs and happiness.

In our home Christmas day began with a very special breakfast prepared and eaten very early in the morning. Each person was assigned a place at the table and beside each plate was one small gift. This was the gift that could be opened before you ate. (When Christmas fell on Sunday, it was the one you opened before going off to church.) Each gift was opened in turn so that everyone could see what every other one received. After the gifts were opened breakfast began.

There were always fruits; bananas, oranges, grapes etc. and on each plate a grapefruit half with a red or green maraschino cherry (often alternating from one plate to the next) in the center. There were nut breads, other assorted goodies and hot chocolate with a marshmallow or two floating on top. Breakfast was not to be rushed just to get to the opening of the presents. I remember that as one got older one would sometimes take longer than necessary to eat just to tease the younger ones a little.

What was waiting in the living room? It was a place that remained shrouded in mystery behind doors and curtains and hidden from tiny prying eyes ... until the right moment. The tree lights were turned on. Trains were set in motion to run through the tiny village, under tunnels, over bridges and past the nativity sitting in its' place of honor at the base of the fresh cut tree. Then, and only then,were the children allowed to enter into this Christmas wonderland, wide eyed and squealing with delight.

Where did all those presents come from? The night before Christmas, from throughout the house, from closet and dresser, from under the beds, from attic and basement they appeared. Wrapped, tied, decorated and ready to delight. It was quite an honor to reach the age when you would be allowed to participate in the gathering of the gifts. (You were NEVER old enough to touch your own gifts before Christmas morning.)

Gifts were opened, one at a time. Each one was properly inspected, passed around, admired and appreciated by one and all. (One could also have some fun with ones' siblings at this time by being extra special careful not to tear paper and ribbons and taking a long time to find the gift in all that newspaper packing.) I remember that the anticipation of someone opening that special gift you bought or made for them was as exciting as opening your own. We learned about sharing.

When all the gifts had been opened, it was time to clear the breakfast table and begin to prepare Christmas dinner. The adults would drink their coffee, tell stories, and catch up on news and gossip. The children would be bundled up and allowed outside to play. Snow forts, snowball battles, and sledding were the order of the day. You had to get good and cold to really appreciate what awaited you inside.

I can still feel and smell the air hanging warm and damp with the fragrance of mincemeat, pumpkin and shoo-fly pies mixed with the pungent odors of gingerbread and hot spiced apple cider, all mingling with the scent of fresh cut pine boughs. That golden brown work of art in the oven was stuffed so full of tasty dressing you knew it was going to burst. Or maybe it was big juicy ham, with clove studded diamonds cut crisscross over the top, yellow pineapple rings laid side by side and sweet brown sugar glaze running down the sides. And the "trimmings"! Candied sweet potatoes, cranberry sauce, vegetables made just so, pickles and relishes, hot homemade breads and rolls with lots of butter, and mountains of white fluffy whipped potatoes with the perfect consistency in which to make a crater for your own personal lake of giblet gravy.

"There's too much to fit on my plate, thank you, I'll try some of that the next round." "Oh no, I couldn't. If I eat another bite I'll explode." "Oh come on, if I'd quit when I was full I wouldn't have eaten these last two plates full." "Shoo-fly pie you say? Well, maybe just one piece - for now." Such were the polite protestations that no one really meant or believed. Consumption belied the conversation.

Then there were the fruitcakes of course. Not store bought, hard-as-a-brick, the bane of the holidays fruitcakes mind you.

I'm talking fruit CAKES.

It was prepared months in advance, wrapped in linen cloths which had been soaked in homemade elderberry wine, covered with waxed paper, tucked in a brown paper bag, brought out at regular intervals, more wine added, turned over and returned to that just right dark place for perfect seasoning. If you were a very special friend, you would get one for a present, probably surrounded by cookies and candies.

I can taste homemade cookies and candies prepared weeks ahead. It was truly a labor of love. Chewy, crunchy, sticky, powdery, and melt-in-your-mouth-before-you-can-bite-them ones. Cookies were lumped, rolled, sliced, dropped, plopped and cut. There were trees, Santas, rocking horses, wreathes, ornaments and gingerbread men and their houses, all decorated with nuts, sugar sprinkles, candied fruits, confectioners sugar and red hot cinnamon candies. You want to savor every molecule of this one, but can't wait to try the next. We children were official decorators and tasters as one batch after another made the trip in and out of the oven. Once they had passed the taste test, they were stored in large gold colored cans, layer upon layer separated by sheets of waxed paper so as not to stick together. And then we waited ... 'til the appropriate time, which was about a week or two before Christmas to begin a serious assault on those tasty treasures.

Music. I remember the music. It was everywhere. Does anybody go Christmas caroling now? I recall bundling up against the freezing cold and going house-to-house singing and laughing and wishing peace and joy and happiness to the whole world. You huddled together for warmth and watched the carols rise on clouds of frozen breath through the cold night air. Just when you thought you couldn't go on, you would hear those wonderful words. "Come on in, we've got hot chocolate, cookies and a warm fire. No, no, don't worry about the snow on your boots. It's only water and it will mop up."

Christmas carols, old standards, cantatas, the Messiah. It took weeks of preparation for that one glorious night of some of the greatest music ever written. Is there another song that can stir the soul and lift spirit like the Hallelujah Chorus? Music—glorious, joyful, silly, funny, thoughtful, wonderful music. I hear it again and again. I feel in touch with those whom I shared the joy. I can hear the voices, see the faces and remember the feelings. Christmas was truly a time of sharing and caring, a time of family and friends, a time to visit and be visited, a time to reflect on the real Reason for the celebration. We were certainly not rich in material possessions but we knew we were better off than some. We were taught not only to share, but also to be thankful for the means and opportunity to do so. The Spirit of Christmas was alive and well and didn't come wrapped in foil and ribbon and glitter; and you weren't still paying for it in July. Well actually, Mom would likely start finding bargains in July and put them on lay-away. You do remember lay-away don't you? You know, bring it home after it was paid for.

The "good old days" were not always as good as we would sometimes like to remember them. Time and distance usually have a way of making things seem better (or worse) than they were. As I have remembered, reflected on and written about these lasting impressions of Christmas past, I thought I might be gilding the lily. The truth is, I can still see it, smell it and taste it. I can reach back through time and feel the warmth and love of family and friends. It's as real today as it was then. If I'm remiss at all, it's surely not of embellishment, but rather of not being able to do the memories justice.

I've had some wonderful Christmases as a child and as an adult. I expect to have many more. I want to be able to share them with family and friends and to be able to look back and remember those Christmases still to come as fondly as those past. When I do, I will know that my present and future joy is anchored firmly to parents and family and friends who knew what the real meaning and spirit of Christmas was, and passed the legacy on to us.

Christmas was not just a day. It was an enchanted season. It was a time for rejuvenation of the soul and uplifting of the spirit. It was a respite from the oft-hard tasks of day to day living. Young and old, rich and poor - everyone, for at least a moment knew that "peace on earth, good will to man" was surely possible if we could just sustain this indefinable yet very real "Spirit of Christmas". We were at peace with one another, filled with happiness and prayed that the feeling would never leave. Even as we were saddened by the passing of the season and it's unique ability to cheer us and lighten our burdens, we knew in our hearts that sometime late in November, this mysterious spirit would return on a “Silent Night” carried on angels wings. That spirit would once again lift us above ourselves to a place where we would discover that we humans are capable of being much better creatures than we usually allow ourselves to be.