Christmas Traditions

It's that Christmasy time of year.

Downtown is lit up like the proverbial Christmas tree, every building, crane, office, tower, deck, or window has some swag. Shopping is half done. Everyone is sniffling, coming down with or getting over the flu. If this were carbon dating we would be at half life. If this were a novel we would be at the-plot-thickens. If this were a cooking show we just put it in the oven. If this were a mountain hike we are almost to the saddle.

Ian is half way through the wrapping. His packages are a work of art. I always used as many different wrapping papers as possible, Ian uses as few as possible to be absolutely, always, tastefully coordinated. I'll send you a snapshot.

Hope, peace, joy, love reigns along with reindeer, snowmen, candy canes and jingle bells.

All those symbols and icons of Christmas, all the myriad traditions; boat parades, midnight mass, singing Christmas carols. In our growing up household no iconography dominates, no tradition endures. No train rides, carousels, tree lighting, Santa visit, not even a dependable Christmas storm.

Oklahoma with its undependable weather never cooperated in creating a tradition. Some growing up Christmas' we had enough snow to build snow forts, others we cavorted around in our shorts. No annual ice skating on the community pond for us like my friends from Boston or other chilly locals. I remember a few downtown Christmas parades, a few stunning department store windows, enough to amaze my young eyes, but nothing that qualifies as traditional. No Nutcracker ballet, winter festivals or Christmas pudding.

All the icons of Christmas we only dabbled in. I sung carols, once, with the Girl Scouts. Gingerbread houses came with adulthood, yet it is a strong growing up tradition for so many. No treasured Creche was brought down from the attic, but the three hand painted plywood choir boys came out, as did the electric window candles that mother loved beyond all reason. The Christmas tree was a cedar tree daddy cut out of the pasture and wired to a board, usually a little forlorn and lopsided, but always big. Our Christmas' didn't smell like pine or plastic, our Christmas' smelled like cedar and fudge. Mom's fudge.

Memories rise; food bakes, cooks, burbles on the stove.

Mom and Dad spending a Saturday shopping.

A child size handmade cupboard with adult sized dishes that Mom had saved from the oatmeal boxes, green I remember, a baby doll or two, a purple sweater. Aunt Josephine and Uncle Beaty blazing into town in what ever new car they were driving. Christmas Eve meant Uncle Beaty taking us for a Christmas light tour while a visit from Santa was orchestrated at home.

Family always family; aunts, uncles, grandparents, siblings, parents, in-laws. Always the constant tradition.

Christmas and shopping the hard part.
Christmas and cooking the delicious part.
Christmas and work the necessary part.
Christmas and surprises the fun part.
Christmas and family the love part.

Daddy giving us all a nickle candy bar.
School plays.
Church pageants.
Mince pies.
Divinity.
Laughter and love...