by Michelle Kathleen Beckett
Home >> Christmas Nostalgia
The Christmas Tree
The first sign of Christmas spirit arrived every year with the purchase of a fresh pine tree. Once the tree was mounted the “Christmas box”, full of antique ornaments passed down from my Grandmother, was brought out. After carefully unwrapping each one, and adding a small hook, they would find their place on a tree branch along with the candy canes, Christmas crackers, and of course a vacuum’s best friend – the tinsel.
The most important adornment was the angel, which took her place proudly on the top of the tree. With a plastic head delicately balanced on the top of a cardboard cone covered in silver sparkles, crooked golden wings, and pathetic blond hair that would always slip to one side – she was our pride and joy. Many a Christmas she looked down hungrily on our festive feast.
Christmas gifts, stockings, and “white lies”.
I was allowed to open one gift on Christmas Eve. This would follow weeks of shaking the packages to try and guess what was inside, while my mom would lie as best as she could saying “Nope. It’s not that.” Christmas was the only time we were allowed to tell “white lies”, and mom certainly did her best to tell as many as possible, to prolong the excitement till the last moment.
Stockings were even more important than the gifts. They would be filled to the brim with small surprises, sweets and chocolate. I could always count on getting a bag of gold and silver foil- wrapped chocolate coins, a peppermint candy cane and a mandarin orange.
Christmas Morning
I would always wake up early, sometimes as early as three or four in the morning! My first stop was the Christmas tree to make a quick inventory of gifts. Then, I would run into my mom’s bedroom to wake her up – “Christmas is here! Christmas is here! Wake up! Wake up!” I would shout. Unable to resist the youthful jingle of my excitement, she would put on her robe and follow me into the living room where, plastered with an enormous smile, I would be impatiently waiting to attack my stocking and rip open my gifts.
Christmas Dinner
We would eat Christmas dinner on the evening of December 25th, and it was always a big fat stuffed turkey. My job was to help make the stuffing – mom’s famous and angelically delicious stuffing! Mashed potatoes with gravy, cranberry jelly, egg nog, and some kind of pie for dessert, all accompanied the beautifully baked bloated brown bird.
Peace and joy to everyone! La la la la la, la la la la. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!
(This article is dedicated to my mom who always made Christmas a special time of year – Merry Christmas Mom!)
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Posted on http://www.weeklyletter.com at 2008-12-18 08:00:00 +0100
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I was God’s bouncer. Sadly Midnight Mass at the Sacred Heart Church in Stoke-on-Trent attracted drunks and so my job was to act as a kind of proto-St-Peter and decide who was to be allowed into God’s presence. As I tend to believe we are all in God’s presence anyway it made for a philosophical conundrum which I only solved by deciding who would my mum like me to let in. The really obnoxious drunks were given the same advice as Adam and Eve when they were told to ‘go forth and multiply’. Lesser boozers were given directions to the nearest Church of England service.
Afterwards the priest would invite me and a few others back to the Presbytery for a glass or two of Irish whiskey.
—While we’re on the subject my favourite Christmas poem is by John Short.
A Short Carol
There was a boy bedded in bracken,
Like to a sleeping snake all curled he lay;
On his thin navel turned the spinning sphere,
Each feeble finger fetched seven suns away.
He was not dropped in good for lambing weather,
He took no suck when shook birds sing together;
But he is come in cold-as-workhouse weather,
Poor as a Salford child.
John Short
Christmas in my family meant food, chili and oyster stew on Christmas Eve and turkey or ham on Christmas Day, along with all the cookies and candies that go with the holiday season. Also as a child I remember lots and lots of presents, both at our house and at Grandma’s house.
Midnight Mass is a tradition I adopted later on. Our church didn’t have Midnight Mass so I went with my friend Sara to Sioux City’s cathedral. It was trilingual, which could get to be a bit much, but it was lovely!
Michelle’s memories sound lovely. I suppose most of us who celebrate the season have our own little Christmas world when we’re growing up and it stays with us for years. Sneaking downstairs on Christmas morning to see what had been left is one I’ll always remember. I think I may have attended midnight mass once, but I don’t remember if I even got past the bouncer. I’m not too sure what Christmas is all about any more. Lost the magic, I suppose. Have a good one anyway. Whatever it is!
I’ve just returned to “www….” (the wonderful world of work!”) after a week back in England for Christmas. My own childhood memories of Christmas are magical in much the same way as yours are Michelle…
As an adult…I haven’t stopped believing that it IS a magical time of year, although I am not sure how clearly I can sense or see that magic now.
Yet again I find myself expressing an old idea – that I like, admire & respect the way that over here, in this part of Europe, “things stop”...for more than just a day (which isn’t really stopping at all). The longer Christmas period here certainly gives you more chance to relax, to spend it with family and friends…