My Christmas Tag

This entry will be a bit of a departure from my usual as I am responding to a "tag" from my oldest daughter, Becca, about what the Christmas spirit is to me - the symbols, the traditions. It's interesting to note that she focused on the tree as hers because I hope she got that from me. The tree, or more accurately, the choosing of the tree, is a big part of my childhood memories and the moment that always set me right in the spirit of the holiday. No ordinary tree would do for us - oh no! We searched until we found the perfect tree! I accompanied my father on this quest and we would discuss height and circumference. If there was a toddler or crawler in the house at the time, my mother would request a sharp-needled tree. Now before you all get upset about this, think about it. I don't ever remember having trouble with ornaments and little ones. I used this same strategy with my little ones and, again, never had to worry about putting ornaments up high. I also added jingle bells to the lower branches just in case I had a more determined one in the house. If I heard a jingle, I quickly went in and distracted them with something else as equally shiny and wonderful. But, usually, the sharp needles were deterrent enough themselves. Sometimes my dad and I would find our perfect tree on a pre-cut lot, sometimes we had to take to the snowy field. We would then bring home our perfect find and dad would put it up in the stand. Music was played on the record player, dad would string the lights and then we'd empty carton after carton of ornaments upon that tree. And then - the best part of all!!! Pulling on our jammies, turning off the lights, and cuddling up on the couch and sitting and staring at the wonder of it all while listening to Bing and Nat and the Harry Simeone Chorale, The King Sisters, and Andy Williams. My mother is the most clever person I know when it comes to decorating. We never had a large budget but people thought we did because of how beautiful our home always looked. And during the holidays she outdid herself!

I would now like to talk about another tree which always held me spellbound. That of my maternal grandmother's. It was always HUGE! Did they have higher ceilings? I don't know. But their tree always seemed massive. She had the usual colored bulb lights like we did. She had the shiny glass ornaments like we did. But she also had the glow-in-the-dark tiny, baby cherub angels which she hung all over her tree. You couldn't really see them until the lights were out. So, as you can guess, whenever we went to her house, I'd run into her front room, yelling over my shoulder, "Grandma! Come turn out the lights! I want to see the baby angels!" And you know, she always obliged. She'd chuckle and shake her head as if to say, "Kids get excited about the darnedest things!" But I think it made her happy inside to know that I got so much pleasure out of it. I remember I had gone to her house when I was an adult with children of my own. The baby angels weren't on the tree and I think my dismay showed when I asked where they were. A few days later, she showed up at my mom's house (where we were staying for the holidays) with a little box. In it were several of these sweet, baby angels. She thought I should have some because maybe my little ones would get the same joy that I had. We shared a moment, as we often did, not that she was a huggy sort or anything, but she and I had a connection - a sort of innate understanding. I knew she loved me and I loved her back. Sadly, the baby angels had lost their glow after so many years, and I started losing them here and there due to their being so small and not finding them all as the tree was taken away. So I've stopped putting them up. Perhaps I should find a tiny tree on which to hang my tiny angels. Or maybe I'll just create a display where I can see them year round.

After the tree, I would have to say that my most magical Christmas memories were the Christmas day shrimp feasts at my grandmother's house. She would cover her dining room table with plastic and newspapers. Shrimp would be brought up from my uncle's family in Maryland and they would boil it up in Old Bay Seasoning. Pot after pot would be dumped into the center of the table and people would take turns bellying up to the table, rolling up their sleeves, and shelling and eating to their hearts' content! The smell of Old Bay is always the smell of Christmas!

Sometimes my Grandpa Ristau would hitch up the sleigh to the back of his tractor and all Christmas Eve he would take batch after batch of family out on a ride about the countryside. You know those Christmas cards that show the snowy fields and everything is cast in shades of blue? It looks exactly like that! We would burrow down into the blankets and the laps of the adults and listen as the adults would chat and laugh and the moon would shine bright and sparkle off the untouched snow in the fields. If I had a time machine, I'd be right there in a heartbeat!

I always wanted to recreate the Christmases of my childhood for my kids but that is impossible and I think you just come up disappointed in the effort to do so. Those first few Christmases away from home were very difficult for me. Even when I was able to go home for Christmas with my newborn son, things were already different. My in-laws had lovely traditions of their own, yet they weren't my traditions. I quickly realized that I needed to cherish my memories and hold them special as my own. With my husband, we took parts of his and parts of mine and melded a brand of Christmas of our own. And I'm glad to know that we've hatched a success! I just hope my children understand that they, too, need to make a recipe of their own that their family can enjoy. Even within our own traditions I find that as life goes on and situations change, traditions need tweaking now and then. The common denominator, then, becomes, not the tree, not the shrimp, not the favorite Christmas show, but family and being together. Sharing the joy of the season and delighting in watching little ones embrace the spirit and experiencing it anew. Is there anything more precious than the lights of a tree reflected in the bright eyes of a child?