what do you remember?

Morning errands and chores in early December. A quiet, sleepy landscape. No weed to pull, no flower to snip. This is when I let my thoughts run freely. Today they run back to the early winters of my childhood. 

If you come from a Christmas celebrating family, ask yourself this: what stands out in your memories of childhood Christmases? Over and above everything else? What made you happy? 

It's a beautiful morning, though a very nippy one! Still, the light is gorgeous.

Ed comes down for breakfast and we're feeling like a moment of humor would be good, so he brings down his computer and we watch a modestly funny Colbert monologue... 

And then I'm off. To pick up farm produce. To drop off a return (already?!). To take photos of the kids for their family holiday card. So, lots of driving, lots of music, lots of feelings resurfacing. Ones that I remember so well from my young Christmases.

I didn't really start loving this holiday until we moved to New York for my dad's UN job. I was seven then and it was as if I had entered a new universe. Everything changed. And so, too, did Christmas. Suddenly it seemed larger than life. Maybe it was that I simply grew into it. In a few years I was allowed to go out in the city on my own. My most frequented destination? The Woolworth (5and10) store on Lexington and 45th. At Christmas time it had every imaginal shiny holiday trinket and decoration, candy cane, greeting card, and carol book. I'd squander my allowance there and I'd bring my new treasures home, creating my own Christmas there. 

A favorite? That book of carols, with illustrations of what we all liked to imagine as the picture perfect Christmas: a snow covered village, a decorated tree with children dancing, stockings hanging from the mantle. Norman Rockwell would have loved it. Add to this my beloved comic books: Dennis the Menace had a Christmas special edition! Such were my prized possessions!

I learned the songs quickly enough and from then on I was hooked. But on my own. My family remained neutral on the holiday throughout all my childhood. Who can blame them -- my mother was Polish, but not really raised in Poland and so those traditions -- big meal on Eve, family visits on Day -- weren't familiar to her. My father? Oh, it wasn't for a man to "do Christmas." Woman's work. And my mom did make the effort when we were little. There would be a tree, in our room. There would be presents under it the morning of. But there was no magic to it. I quickly figured out where she herself hid the presents -- in her closet, upper left shelf -- and so Santa was never even a possibility. Mom was him and she dutifully purchased the album I coveted or the next book in the Nancy Drew series. My parents did not themselves exchange gifts and we had no relatives that would send anything to any of us. Not even a card. I asked for a Mary Poppins record and I got it. Straight from her closet to under the tree. 

Eventually, this ritual (tree, a few gifts) would diminish and then just disappear. So, Christmas was entirely my own. And in my world, there was magic. 

I am thinking of the fairy-mermaid-detective-unicorn stories Snowdrop makes up routinely. She doesn't really believe in them, but she lives in them nonetheless. I lived in my Christmas world. The carols were poems. They did not have to have greater meaning than that. And of course, New York went all out on Christmas, in my eyes at least! [I am reminded of a Snowdrop comment this week. She tells me -- my mom doesn't really decorate a whole lot on the outside of the house, but inside? She goes all out! Oh children! I hardly think my daughter goes "all out" inside, but to the kids, the comparison is to the house as it was before Christmas. So, now, with the tree and a few boughs and lights here and there? All out!]

By 12, I was roaming the city up and down and searching out that urban wonderland -- the Lord & Taylor store windows, the Rockefeller Center tree -- magic! And then home again to my book of carols and the album I would eventually get of Alvin and the Chipmunks singing Christmas, Christmas, time is here, time for joy and time for cheer! I realized as an adult that you have to work on joy -- it doesn't just happen. In my childhood, Christmas wasn't about joy -- it was a warm and emotional place, very deeply felt. And out would come the comic book -- as I recall, it had the story that also aired on TV in 1960 where Dennis really really wanted a horse for Christmas. And in the comic strip, he is on the range, with horses, and the cowboy croons -- it's Christmas Eve on the range, boys, it's Christmas Eve on the range. I got goosebumps every time I read those bubbled words.

And now, when I hear O Little Town of Bethlehem, I am, in my head, opening my carols book to the page with the snow covered village (odd association with Bethlehem but oh well!). And I swear, every Christmas Eve, whether it will have been with my two Christmas loving girls, or my grandkids, I want to smile at all that I see before me and say -- it's Christmas Eve on the range, boys, it's Christmas Eve on the range. Every Christmas Eve.

As for the photo taking of the three grandkids? They were wild and happy and I think we did just fine, even if Sandpiper's bump on the head from yesterday's fall on the playground (a rather rambunctious classmate pushed him) is clearly visible! But then, he's 18 months old and I am grateful that he gave us one of his big grins. (The other two have delivered plenty of smiles over the years, but the youngest child is always asked to grin for no discernible to him or her reason, so it's grand when they just go along with it, because, well, they're happy.)

I wont post their Christmas photo -- that's theirs to keep. But here are three fun ones: two sweet rejects, and a great second choice!

In the afternoon Ed and I finally dragged ourselves out for a walk in the park. My knee had really stiffened up in the days of no walks and so I pushed for an outing, despite the cold. And as always, it was beautiful.

(Ice along the edges of Lake Waubesa...)

A frittata-for-dinner night. Warm and deeply felt.