Christmas, Again
“‘Twas Christmas broached the mightiest ale;
‘Twas Christmas told the merriest tale;
A Christmas gambol oft could cheer
The poor man’s heart for half the year.”
**
Frosty nights around our Central Coast retirement neighborhood now. If we had a fireplace, three logs would be burning until bedtime. Shiny Christmas bulbs on shrubs and trees are cheering nighttime walkers. Inside lighted windows, Christmas trees sparkle, set up in hopes that grand-kids or Santa – or both – will appear.
Christmas is easier now for those of us who have seen so many of them, but there’s less magic. When our own children were young, the holidays were hectic and exciting. And wearying. Not Christmas itself, but getting up to it. Searching for just the right gifts. Buying them. Wrapping them in secrecy, after the kids went to bed – sometimes late on Christmas Eve, when not a creature was stirring. Those days and nights before Christmas were a high test of courage, but we made it. We always made it. And as the children grew, so did our effort to keep Santa alive for them as long as possible.
One memorable year – when we lived near San Francisco – we planned to fly to London for Christmas. As our kids got into the car for the drive to the airport, I made an excuse to go back inside the house. I pulled out our hidden gifts – placed them under the tree – and went back outside. We spent 10 glorious days in Dickens Land – then flew home. And when the children walked into our house – voila! Santa had come during our absence and left gifts behind. Success! Mr. Claus lived for another year in their hearts.
Christmas was not at all wearying when I was a kid, growing up in Fresno. It was the best of times. Frozen nights back then, with that smell of oak and pine fireplace smoke in the crystal nighttime air. Our town’s main drag – Fulton Street – was spanned by Christmas wreaths and bells. The great downtown department stores – Penney’s, Gottschalks, Wards – all featured incredibly decorated Christmas scenes in their front windows. North of downtown, Christmas Tree Lane sparkled with hundreds of thousands of lights. Christmas music filled the radio airwaves – even on KYNO and KMAK, the rock stations – and especially on NBC’s great weekend “Monitor” on KMJ.
TV featured must-watch holiday specials from the big boys – Crosby, Como, Hope, Andy Williams. And movies – wonderful black-and-white holiday tales about redeeming ghosts, about miracles on a New York street, and even about a bishop’s wife. Those were the days and nights of true Christmas spirit – and you never had a thought that they could end. Ever.
Mom and Dad didn’t have lots of money, but we always had Christmas. There would be presents, and the grandmas and Uncle Jerry would come over for a glorious Christmas Day feast. No talk of getting a goose. None of that Scrooge-and-Cratchit thing. We always had turkey, and that baby had staying power for days. Hot turkey. Cold turkey. Turkey sandwiches. And finally, turkey soup. A grand and noble bird, indeed. What a great time, when Santa – and my parents – were all alive and well.
The tree stayed up at least a few days after Christmas, of course. I wanted it to remain all year, but for some reason, Mom said no. Dad never spoke about it – he didn’t have to. Mom was the day-to-day enforcer.
Christmas vacation flew by. All too soon, it was New Year’s Eve, and every kid knew what that meant. Not Guy Lombardo – he was just an old guy playing slow music from the Waldorf on TV. No, the arrival of the New Year meant that school would soon re-open. Horrors! You tried not to think about it, but sometimes it would show up in your dreams. Too many sometimes. A dreadful thing, because that grand Christmas feeling was going, going…
Christmas in Our Town on the Central Coast, 2018. Our kids have grown, and we have grown older. Yes, the lights shine brightly in the trees in our downtown park, and yes, some store fronts have holiday trappings. But that magical feeling is much harder to find, especially through eyes that have viewed nearly seven decades of holidays come and go. But we still try to find that magic. Oh, do we try. We decorate inside the house, put up outdoor lights and greet everyone we meet on the street. Everyone. And we dream of crackling blazes on our own hearth – if we only had a fireplace.
**
“Heap on more wood! The wind is chill,
But let it whistle as it will,
We’ll keep our Christmas merry still.”