Posted tagged ‘Santa Claus’

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“Even as an adult I find it difficult to sleep on Christmas Eve. Yuletide excitement is a potent caffeine, no matter your age.”

December 22, 2011

55° on December 22nd just doesn’t seem right. When I went to get the papers, I stood a while outside and took in the morning. We have sun and blue skies for the first time in days, but it all seems wrong. Where’s the snow? I should be seeing my breath and be clad in wool from head to toe. I’m sure it sounds like complaining, and I really don’t want winter as I’m loving this temperature, but it’s Christmas time. It’s sleigh bells ringing and Frosty dancing. It’s even the first day of winter. Mother Nature is behind her time.

Every kid counted down to the big day, Christmas Eve. The lucky ones, like us, had advent calendars which let us know how many days were left without having to ask. I swear that’s why my mother started giving them to us. We just counted the unopened windows and knew how long. Later, when we were older, we did the math. I have to admit that still being in school until the 23rd helped. We were forced to be busy so the days went more quickly. Christmas Eve is the longest day of the year, not the summer solstice. Just ask any kid.

I don’t remember the specifics of most Christmas Eve days except night was a long time in coming. I bet we drove my mother crazy. It was never a day for us to play outside or wander. It was a close to home day. The TV was always on in case there was a Christmas show, just what we needed to heighten the excitement. We wondered what Santa would bring. Would he follow our list or be creative?

We always got a new game or two for Christmas. As long as I can remember, we were a family of game players. Learning to play cards started with war then we worked our way up to more complex games as we got older. My parents, figuring they had built-in partners, taught my brother and me whist. We also played all sorts of board games either sitting on the living room rug or at the kitchen table. Santa always left the games front and center under the tree leaning upright against other toys. They were often the first things we saw. I don’t remember asking for games on my list. They were Santa’s choice, but we never complained.

I still try to give a game at Christmas. It’s one of those traditions meant to be carried on year to year. The one change is we just can’t manage sitting on the rug to play. It’s too hard to get up.

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“And finally Winter, with its bitin’, whinin’ wind, and all the land will be mantled with snow.”

December 18, 2011

No question about it. Winter has arrived. Today is the coldest day so far at 30°, and we have snow. When I woke up, only the deck had a dusting, but since then, the snow has started falling more heavily and can no longer be described as flurries. The ground is getting a light covering. The sky is white-gray, and the day has a dismal look about it, but we’re warm and cozy, and that’s all that counts. My tree is lit and looks beautiful shining through the darkness of the day.

If I were a kid, I wouldn’t get my hopes up for a free day tomorrow. The snow won’t accumulate as the size of the flakes is a giveaway to the impermanence of the storm.  When you’re a kid, a snowstorm is a good one only when there is enough for snowmen, sledding, snowball fights and a day off from school.

I always wanted a white Christmas. It seemed to me that Santa’s sleigh would do its best work on snow-covered roofs, and Santa did, after all, live at the North Pole where it was snowy all year-long. It felt wrong to see grass and streets on Christmas Eve.

When I lived in Ghana, there was never hope of snow. The only time it felt chilly was during the harmattan around this time of year. Nights dropped to the 70’s, and the mornings were cold. Sometimes I swear there was even a crispness to the air. My students hated the harmattan. They had to layer to face the cold mornings to finish their chores. Some wore as many as three sweaters.  I loved that sensation of feeling cold and at night I’d snuggle under my wool blanket. In the mornings, I’d sometimes wear a sweatshirt until the sun rose a bit more in the sky. I’d sit on my porch with my giant mug of coffee and watch the small children cut across the school compound to their primary school just outside the front gate. We always said good morning to each other. It was a daily ritual I loved.

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“Like snowflakes, my Christmas memories gather and dance – each beautiful, unique and too soon gone.”

December 17, 2011

Last night was cold, but today we’re back up to 50°. The sun is in and out of the clouds making the day bright but not sunny. I have to refill the feeders later and I’m glad my fingers won’t freeze. Earlier was already warm enough for me to stand outside for a little bit watching Gracie. She ran like a crazy dog around the yard, came in and got her snack, always two biscuits, then she flopped down on the couch for her morning nap. That’s where she still is. One cat, Fern, is on the couch in the living room, and the other, Maddie, just went down the cellar. I suspect she might be mouse hunting.

Later I have some shopping to do so I’m gearing up to fight the crowds at the supermarket and curse the wagons left in the middle of the aisles. My list is small and for that I am thankful. I hate grocery shopping.

Gracie and I went for a ride to see the lights the other night. I was far more enthused than she. I pointed out to her all the wonderfully lit houses, lamented the dark ones and laughed a bit at the “at least they did something houses.” I saw lit Christmas trees through windows and a few plastic Santas on lawns. Those Santas reminded me of my childhood when plastic Santas were the newest Christmas decorations. I have a few myself I’ve collected over the years but haven’t used them in a while. I think next year they’ll be perfect for the deck. It will be like a Santa convention.

When I was young, we used to string popcorn for the tree and a couple of times we added the cranberries. We’d sit at the kitchen table with the bowl of popcorn in the middle for us to share. It took a delicate push to get the needle through without breaking the kernel, but no matter how gently we tried, the table was usually strewn with broken pieces of corn kernels. We’d munch as we worked figuring the popcorn was as much for eating as threading. When our strands were ready, we’d each take our own and place it on the tree looped from branch to branch. We’d then step back to admire our work and how pretty it looked on the tree. When Christmas was over, the strands went outside for the birds.

We stopped doing popcorn when my dog Shauna decided the Christmas tree was for snacking. We caught her eating the popcorn enough times that we gave up before she pulled the tree down during her snack time. Shauna was a great one for sniffing out treats from just about anywhere. She always found her present under the tree. She’d pull it out from the pile and unwrap it then settle down to eat her present. She was always on Santa’s nice list.

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“Alas! How dreary would be the world if there was no Santa Claus! There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence.”

December 15, 2011

Today is cloudy, but a few patches of clouds are backlit. That’s where the sun is hiding. The day is damp as it rained during the night, but it’s warm, the last warm day for a while. I went to UPS and sent the packages for Colorado on their Christmas trek. That was the most important item to cross off my to-do list. The other items have no time constraint other than the big day. My back is a bit iffy today so I’ve decided today is my do little or nothing day.

I remember one Christmas Eve when my mother sent me to the corner store, probably for bread. I rode my bicycle so there wasn’t any snow. I remember riding my bike down the grass hill beside the steps leading to the street, something my father always hated us doing, but it was fun so we did it anyway hoping not to get caught. I was going to the white store, the closer store. I never minded doing bike errands for my mother, but I was annoyed that day. It seemed to me my mother was taking the day far too lightly. I couldn’t believe that she would actually send me to do an errand on Christmas Eve. I thought it odd she didn’t realize Christmas Eve is one of the sacred days for kids, not a day for errands. It was a day for dreaming and for hoping to fall asleep as early as possible.

When it got dark, we always got restless. We watched the clock and waited. My mother let us open one gift on Christmas Eve, and that one gift was always new pajamas. Every year we argued that we should pick the gift, but it was inevitable that we’d get stuck with the new pajamas.

Back then Santa Claus was on TV every day in the late afternoon starting a few weeks before Christmas from a station out of New Hampshire. He was in his workshop and had one elf. Every Christmas Eve, the last show, we’d watch as he filled up his sleigh and we’d listen to his reminder about being fast asleep before his arrival.

Bedtime was never more welcome than it was every Christmas Eve.

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“Heap on the wood! – the wind is chill; But let it whistle as it will, We’ll keep our Christmas merry still.”

December 11, 2011

Winter has finally reared its head and today is only 38°. The day even has a chilly look with the light seemingly wan, almost dim, as if the sun has too little energy to fight the cold and is finally giving in to the change of seasons. The breeze is slight and barely rustles the leaves at the ends of the branches. I’m still in my cozies and quite comfy and warm. I can hear Gracie’s deep breathing as she’s napping on the couch behind me. The cats have their own spots during the day; one is on a couch pillow in the other room and the other is on my still unmade bed curled on a blanket. The animals in my house lead tough lives.

When I was a kid, I lived in a house with no chimney, but not once did I ask my mother how Santa would bring us toys. I always just figured he was magical, and the lack of a chimney would be no hindrance. Seeing all the Santas around town never diminished my belief in the one true Santa Claus. I knew the rest were like elves and had jobs to do to help Santa, and, besides, you never saw the real Santa. That was part of the code of belief.

I remember going through the Sears catalog and circling then initialing the toys I wanted so there would be no questions. When I wrote my letters to Santa, I included the toy numbers so he could see exactly what I wanted. It never occurred to me that maybe he didn’t have a Sears catalog. I think I figured everyone did. My list was always long and never included clothes. When I was little, I always thought clothes were a waste of a gift. When I got older, they were the best gifts.

I remember learning Up on the Rooftop in school. We sang it often with rousing good cheer, almost like an anthem to Santa. I also remember the nuns reminding us that Santa was merely a secondary character in the whole of Christmas. It was, after all, a birthday we were celebrating.

My mother put up a crèche every Christmas, and we had an advent wreath most years. The figures in the crèche were made of what I now know was chalkware. It wasn’t all that durable, and some of our figures had no noses, the one body part especially vulnerable to time. I have a similar crèche of my own which I’ve accumulated one piece at a time from all different chalkware sets. Many of my figures have no noses.

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“His eyes–how they twinkled! His dimples, how merry! His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!”

November 22, 2011

Last night was cold, no way getting around it. It was in the mid-30’s, and that sounds an awful lot like winter to me. I watched the Patriots’ game. I could see their breath, and Brady was wearing his hand warmer, more wintry signs. I figured they must be playing somewhere like Green Bay, but no, it was Foxboro.

Today is on and off sunny and for the first time in days there is no wind. My usually quiet street is filled with the sounds of leaf blowers as yards are being cleaned. I heard the sound when I woke up this morning, and it still continues but from another part of the neighborhood.

I did some Christmas shopping this morning in the warmth of my house without a crowd. My fingers did all the work. I’ve been shopping the last couple of days whittling my list, and I haven’t even set foot in a store.

I don’t remember my parents carrying bags or even going Christmas shopping. We were Santa believers so my parents must have hidden stuff in the trunk until we were all in bed then they’d carry the toys inside and stash them in the attic. When I was older, they woke me up when they were bringing stuff down from the attic so I knew that had been a hiding place. Our attic had hidden stairs. You had to take off the cover in the ceiling then pull down the stairs, and, because most of the attic was unfinished, it wasn’t a place we ever explored so it was a perfect hiding spot for Santa toys. I stayed awake a long while that Christmas Eve and even sneaked down the stairs to watch my parents put out the gifts. We were an unwrapped Santa gift family so that year I watched as the toys were being put under and around the tree. My dad would hand something to my mother who would then artistically place it in the right spot. We all knew our spots. They never changed from year to year.

I must have moved and creaked the stairs because my parents finally heard me and sent me back to bed. I know I fell asleep right away, and I know the morning was quick to come.

That year I wasn’t disappointed at having seen a few of my gifts but rather I felt part of a conspiracy of wonder and joy, of seeing my Santas do their magic.

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“Alas! How dreary would be the world if there was no Santa Claus!… There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence.”

December 24, 2010

I remember being giddy every Christmas Eve. The minutes passed like hours. By four o’clock I was ready for bed figuring the earlier I went to bed the sooner Santa would come. I had nothing to do all day so I paced a lot, read for about two minutes, looked out the window hoping to see a snowflake and shook the few wrapped packages under the tree. The pajamas were easy to guess. Each of the other packages sported a small hole on the side where my sister Moe had peeked. She made the hole small hoping no one would notice. We all did. I wanted to be surprised so I used every bit of the restraint in my young body not to look.The wrapped packages were from my parents. Every Christmas Eve my mother would tell us we could open one, and we’d run to pick out the package, but she’d hand a package to each of us. We’d groan and moan because we knew it was new pajamas. It always was. I figured my mother wanted us looking good for the morning pictures. We’d complain and ask to open a different one, but that was a battle we never won.

This was one night my mother never had to argue with us about our bedtime. First we’d hang up our stockings on the banister. We didn’t have a fireplace but long ago my mother had explained that Santa could get into every house, and we believed her. After all, Christmas is magic. The stockings were hung by age so mine was at the top. My stocking was an old one my mother had bought when I was toddler. It has since disappeared, but I remember it well. It had silver glitter and my name was written in black across the cuff. When I was much older, I thought the stocking small. When I was young, it seemed to hold a million surprises.

We’d get into bed but falling asleep took forever. We’d talk across the hall to one another trying to guess what Santa might leave for us. My mother or father would yell up the stairs and tell us to go to sleep. They always reminded us Santa wouldn’t come if we were awake, but sleep evaded us for the longest time. I don’t ever remember falling asleep. I only remember waking up and hurrying down the stairs on Christmas morning.

Don’t forget to leave out the cookies and milk!

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