Every Christmas is different, and this year will be no exception. I’m good with a departure from turkey, and am open to coconut milk eggnog. But of course, adapting to change doesn’t always come easy, especially when love is involved.
I hope this book becomes a theme for the coming Christmas; it is as timely as it was when it appeared just over a hundred years ago. What other signposts are hidden in my memory, ready to point down “rabbit holes” when the time is ripe for uncovering old information in a new context?
Here we are, up to our aspics in the holiday season. Most of the country is still high on Black Friday savings from all those zeros we rolled up and smoked (legally) after not handing them over to store clerks for slippers, scarves, and waffle irons. What an amazing time of year. Puff, puff, save!
Holding the handmade ornaments from my daughter, with their crayon colorings, brilliantly arranged as a little girl of five to say Santa was arriving, made me nostalgic for those beautiful days of handcrafted gifts with special bows made by her small hands.
The fire’s going, the music’s on, the finishing touches on the tree are complete. I pause, my mind wanders and I find myself turning to pen and paper to express my feelings in that moment…
Santa Claus, a filled stocking, the tree in all its glory – as Christmas draws near, I’m reminded of the magic as seen through a little girl’s eyes. And although I still love the twinkling lights and the early mornings in my pyjamas, waiting for everyone to get up, I no longer have a wish list. Well, there may be one item on that list, but it’s a pretty tall order – even for Santa.
Many years ago, when I was in my 20’s, I decided to make some of the Christmas presents I would give to my family. This year, I decided to revisit some of that fun and use my configurable mold to create some concrete gifts for friends and family.
It was a Canine Christmas night “Out on the Town”. Ten dogs invited their human parents to join them at the Doggie Pot Luck Christmas party being held at Raymond’s and Blenda’s Dog House.
“Make a list for St. Nicholas,” mother says. I write: fairy tale book and dark blue ski pants.
Our Christmas tree, with its star of Bethlehem at the top and the stars of the universe dancing upon it, not only speaks of that oh so holy night, it speaks of our personal communion of saints – all those we love and have loved, through a rich and complex family history.