Today’s blogging prompt from Long and Short Reviews concerns Christmas holiday traditions. Christmas, for me, always began the day either after Thanksgiving, or when I came home from school, and saw the shed door open. Although it was a lot of work — and dirty work, too, given the amount of spiders and the like in that shed — that open door always got me excited given what it led to. Not the shed, but Christmas! The leaves were all gone from the trees by now, covering the yard like a crinkly brown rug, and we’d troop back and forth across them lugging in box after box of Christmas stuff. My mother was and remains an absolute nut for decorating. One of the boxes was always the tree, which we assembled and tried to repair. After that came the ornaments — tangled Christmas tree lights, balls that were invariably broken from transit, and then the few keepsake ornaments like a tattered little Santa Claus who used candy canes for arms and legs. We’d decorate together, listening to Christmas music from the radio. My second-grad teacher Mrs Walker gave that to me, and despite its raggedy nature I loved it. Once the insides of the boxes had been disgorged and filled our house, things just settled in until the 24th. Then, on Christmas Eve, we’d pile into the family vehicle that year and go looking at Christmas lights, listening to music on the radio. The one I remember most vividly was the year we didn’t have a working vehicle except for my dad’s truck, which didn’t have a working heater, so we all piled into the single front seat bundled up and smooshed together — which no one complained about, because at least we were warm. I vividly remember a long evening of driving around in that old truck and coming back through town that evening, listening to “Christmas in Dixie” and looking at the lights on shotgun house, feeling warm and so very, very content. Once we got home, we were given one present to open — always a book — and then it was off to bed. I’d barely managed to sleep, brimming over with excitement, and then as soon as I awoke (at the ungodly hour of five am, probably — how do kids manage that?) I’d race into the living room to see what “Santa” had left on the couch. My sisters and dad always slept in, so usually in those dark hours it was just my mom and myself. Breakfast was invariably “sausage rolls”, at by mid-morning we were packing up to go to my grandmother’s where we’d be for the next twelve hours. My dad had four siblings, all of whom had litters of kids, so I’d see hundreds of people throughout the course of the day. We had a set lunch time, but after that it was open grazing. The day was made complete by the adults participating in a gag-gift night, the humor of which they’d often find hysterical but we kids mystified by. Invariably, some uncles or cousins would be absent hunting, but they’d roll up in the evening wanting to show off the deer they’d bagged. At long last we were back home, and the next day brought the dreadful spectre of…..putting everything back in the boxes. Oh, brother.

These days things are more low-key, at least for me. My sisters and parents decorate, but I’m not involved: I like a small tree that fits on my chest of drawers and a little circle of Advent candles, but that’s about it. As the years have passed I find I dislike the consumer side of Christmas more and more: my nieces and nephews are all adults now, so there’s no magic in watching anyone open anything, except on the rare years when I’ve had an idea for a gift that someone will actually need and want. It’s usually just us exchanging clothing and random objects from the store that “I thought you might like”. (Or, you know, at least accept and acknowledge that yes, I tried.) To my annoyance, even though everyone else in the family expresses the same discomfort about the gift grudge, no one is willing to just….not do it. We have to give gifts, it’s not Christmas otherwise! Humbug. To me, Christmas is still a family day — but more importantly, over the years, I’ve oriented myself toward the original intent of the day — Christ’s Mass, and the annual Christmas Eve service has become a keystone part of the year for me. There is nothing quite like a church darkened save for a few hundred people holding candles and singing “Silent Night” together. One of my very best friends — before I met her — was invited by someone to experience the service and was so moved by it that she’s never stopped coming. I also love going to the Christmas service proper, though unless it’s a Sunday it’s a very low key affair and peopled only by the priest and people like myself who really want to be there. One of my favorite traditions in recent years is popping by a friends’ house who lives downtown: he and his wife have an all-day open door policy that begins with grits and tomato gravy at 10:00, and culminates in a big spread of ham, turkey, and homemade egg nog in the evening. Regrettably, the days of the Epic Family Gathering are over: my grandparents are both passed, and now their kids are the nucleii of their own smaller gatherings. However, my day is still filled with the warmth of friends, family, and faith regardless of the outside chill.