Merry Christmas Everyone!

I'm having a wonderful cosy day today, baking buns and wrapping gifts. I had Christmas carols playing all morning, now I have Christmas specials playing on t.v. (Mole's Christmas). It didn't take me long to regain the Christmas Spirit - all it took was a day off from work, and a really nice conversation with my great friend in our chatroom last night. The Christmas Spirit is such a tenuous thing. Like a spider's silken thread, it can be easily broken. Happily, as with most things magical, it can be regained in an instant, all it takes is the right state of mind, a scent, a word, a memory....

Below are some excerpts from my memoir - my happy memories from childhood Christmas.

In my memory I see a fire crackling in the fireplace, my sisters and I lounging in front of it. The record player plays carols while wonderful smells drift from the kitchen where mom is busily baking Christmas cookies. I recall my mother coming into the living room to hand out boxes of animal crackers; a surprise bought for my sisters and me while we were in school. Pouring them out onto the floor, I arranged them in groups, counting the lions and tigers and bears before eating them one by one.

Without a t.v., my sisters and I entertained ourselves, drawing and coloring and making crafts. In November, carol books were hauled out from the piano bench. My sisters and I played duets. Jingle bells had parts for four people. Three of my sisters and I crowded onto the bench and played it together. Mom and dad applauded enthusiastically as the last notes faded away. Dad would bring in a box of Japanese oranges wrapped in green paper, we twisted the corners into legs and folded the paper over the oranges to make turtles that rolled across the floor.

In the park across the street, the dark trunks of trees against pure white snow created a black and white scene. My sisters and I hurried through dinner, anxious to get outside with our sleds. Voices of other children drifted in to us as they rushed up the hills and slid down again and again. Older kids grabbed the bumper of a passing car, their laughter was loud and exuberant as they were carried away towards main street. As evening wore on and more kids arrived, we hurried to get dressed so that we could join them.

I remember as though it were yesterday, the overstuffed feeling as mom bundled us into snowsuits and mittens and hoods and scarves. Layer upon layer of leotards and slimjims, shirts and sweaters. When the last of us was suited up we waddled outside, laughing at the zip-zip sound of our snowsuited legs brushing against each other. Snow made the evening brighter than it would otherwise have been. My sisters and I grinned at each other, thrilled to be outside after dark.

The smallest hill at one side of the park belonged to the youngest kids, a path cutting through the park was the territory of medium kids while the road was where the oldest kids ruled. All the hills were visible from our front window, only yards from each other. To the uninformed eye we were all together, one big crowd of kids of all ages, but the invisible boundaries dividing us were very real.

My sisters and I used the kiddy hill. Excitedly crowding onto one sled, the last one pushed us off, jumping on at the last minute. We flew down, filling the wintry evening with joyful cries. The hill ended in a drop off to the road and we landed with a soggy bump to sit laughing in the slush. As the sky grew darker and kids drifted away, my sisters and I would have one last slide. Laying in the snow at the bottom of the hill, I closed my eyes slightly, letting snowflakes land on my eyelashes, feeling them melt on my face and slip down the back of my neck, voices of the last remaining sledders barely heard, hushed whisper of snow still falling, the sky heavy with it. Gathering our sleds, we crunched across the road to our house where mom pulled off our wet mittens and socks and scarves, draping them over the hot-water radiators to dry.

I loved the night world, especially when it snowed. I waited until the household was asleep, then slipped out of my warm bed. Creeping past my sleeping sister to the window, I sat on the hot-water radiator with my legs pressed between it and the wall, hypnotized by the sound of snoring behind me and the ghostly silence outside as snowflakes drifted down. I stared at the streetlight two houses down, illuminating the swiftly falling snowflakes in its glow. I lost myself in dreams until the heat of the radiator made itself felt through the thin material of my nightgown and I reluctantly returned to bed.

We opened our presents on Christmas Eve, missing out on the traditional wait for Santa. "Santa Clause is an old goat!" dad used to say. We were told he didn't exist, but one year I learned that Santa Clause arrived by helicopter at Oakridge Mall every year to plug in the Christmas lights. I heard that crowds of children flocked to the mall to see him. 'He must be real!' I told myself, but he must be for these other kids. Not 'different' kids like my sisters and me.

One year, as my parents moved slowly through the toy section at Oakridge, I wandered away. On reaching the end of the aisle I stepped out from behind shelves full of toys and games ... my eyes landed on a beautiful Christmas house. Twinkling lights framed multi-paned windows, music wafted out, enticing me closer. As in a trance I drew near. Standing on tiptoes to peer through the window, I looked into a dream.

I saw toys on the floor, toys on the walls, toys spinning slowly on threads from the ceiling. There was a fireplace hung with stockings and a huge tree with stuffed animals of all kinds tucked into its branches and parcels underneath. In the middle of all this sat a fat man on an enormous throne. I stared at a small boy walking confidently toward the throne, the fat man reached for the child and lifted him to his lap. Every movement seemed to be in slow motion, I was reminded of 3D reels in my view-master, or looking through glass at an underwater scene. I raced to my parents, shouting "Santa Clause Is Real! I Saw Him! I Saw Him!" As we left the toy section, passing the fantastic house, I spied a long line of parents and children waiting to enter. More of those special kids, I realized.

Outside we saw another crowd of children in front of a small stable with animals inside. There were four, their names painted overhead. My eye rested on the last name ... Rudolph. I knew this name well. Rudolph was a scapegoat like me.

As my parents cried their exasperation, I hurried to the stable gate. Ignoring a sign warning in large letters 'DO NOT ENTER', I swung the gate open and rushed inside the stable. A loud cheer rang out from the crowd, interspersed with cries of the security guard ordering me to come out. I paid no attention. Squeezing past the warm bodies of the other reindeer, I headed without hesitation for Rudolph and threw my arms around his neck. "Don't be sad!" I whispered in his furry ear "You're just like me and I love you!"

Then I felt my hand being tugged and I was dragged through the stable by my older sister. "Mommy and daddy are really mad at you!" she scolded.

"Look!" I urged her "Look where we are! Look at Santa's reindeer!" My sister's eyes brightened for a moment. She glanced around at the animals, shuffled her feet through hay that covered the floor, made a vague sound as though in wonder at finding herself in this magical place. Then she remembered her mission. Her grip tightened on my arm and she pulled me out through the gate.

Dad always picked out the Christmas tree. Arriving home with it, he would carry it into the basement and trim off the lower branches. I would join him down there. Crouching on the cold floor in my stocking feet, I quietly watched him as he worked. Together we carried the tree upstairs. After arranging it in the corner of the living room, dad and mom draped strings of lights across the branches, then dad left us to finish decorating.

"Remember this one?" we reminisced as we reached into the boxes "Remember this one?" Mom was always last to leave the tree. Reaching in here and there to free a tinsel strand, she would step back to look with a critical eye at her masterpiece and then, spying a flaw, quickly correct it to her satisfaction.

After the tree was complete, my sisters and I watched as mom unrolled a long strip of cotton along the mantle-piece and arranged a little church and houses on it, fitting tiny lights into holes in their backs. Wax carolers were placed beside the church. A plastic Santa in his sleigh pulled by reindeer set across the rooftops, as far as possible from the church so there would be no conflict with the worldly and the religious symbols of the season. Mom taped tiny lights around the mirror above the mantelpiece and sprayed 'MERRY CHRISTMAS!' with sno-spray.

December twenty-fourth was always an endless wait for nightfall. Finally it was evening. Our Christmas lights were turned on and we saw others doing the same up and down the block. The neighbors always had a beautiful display of blue lights. My sisters and I would sneak behind the drapes to look at them. "It's Christmas Eve!" we whispered breathlessly "Aren't you excited?"
After dinner we raced upstairs to change into our Christmas dresses, usually homemade by mom. One by one we came down to show our new outfits. Mom would reach to pluck a stray thread here, a forgotten pin there.

The church service on Christmas Eve was nothing like the services we endured the rest of the year. Many of the women and all of the girls wore new dresses, all of us wore festive corsages pinned to our collars. The four advent candles would be lit, the organist and pianist played Christmas duets, plays and skits were performed by the children with explosions of laughter from the parents, the children's choir sang. After the service there were bags of candy and oranges for every child.

Back at home after the service, we raced into the living room to wait with eager anticipation for mom and dad to hang their coats and put on their slippers. We had a small family service before the presents were unwrapped. When we were small, my sisters and I performed the traditional play of Christmas. As we grew older we sang carols together, my oldest sister and I taking turns on the piano. Afterward, dad read the Christmas story from the Bible.

We opened our gifts one at a time, everyone watching politely as paper and ribbons were torn away and the gift held up to be admired. We had farm sets and dolls, campers and swimming pools for our Barbie-dolls, coloring books and games. One year I was given a set of hot-wheels. My dad and I spent the morning of Christmas Day putting it together while mom begged dad to let me get ready for church. I remember the glow that swelled in me that day. For those few moments at least, I was my father's daughter and he was my dad.

After each gift was opened, we rushed to kiss the giver of the gift, tripping over paper littering the floor. The atmosphere was full of joy, the house ringing with laughter and thank-you's and cries of "Oh it's just what I wanted!" After the last gift had been opened, we returned our new toys under the tree and filed upstairs to bed. Snuggling under warm blankets with our Christmas stockings draped over the bedposts, we looked forward to more gifts in the morning.

Early Christmas morning, mom and dad tiptoed in, laden with gifts that were stuffed into our stockings. Pretending to be asleep, we kept our eyes tightly shut until they retreated downstairs, then we fell on our new treasures with squeals of delight. At the foot of the bed beside the bulging stocking would be one of our dolls in a new outfit sewn by mom. Weeks before, our dolls had disappeared one by one. On Christmas Day they reappeared in new dresses and bloomers and tiny booties. Sometimes our favorite dolls stayed where they were in the playroom, and we wondered why mom was not taking them way. Maybe there would be no new outfit this year. We woke on Christmas morning, happily surprised by the sight of one of our older, forgotten dolls, magically transformed and given a second chance to be the favorite. Inside our stockings were an endless array of Barbie shoes and several sets of Barbie clothes, many made by mom. There were tiny rubber babies and multicolored panties, striped toe socks and imitation jewelry, woolen tam hats with matching mittens....