CHRISTMAS BACK WHEN.....

 circa 1954

 “The light of the Christmas star to you. The warmth of home and hearth to you. The cheer and goodwill of friends to you. The hope of a child-like heart to you. The joy of a thousand angels to you. The love of the Son and God's peace to you.”
― Sherryl Woods, An O'Brien Family Christmas

Christmas, before my time,  so simple. So quiet. My grandparents  sitting by the fire, with the crooked Christmas tree haphazardly looming behind. Evenings spent with tea and shortbread. And from what I imagine the scent of my grandfather's pipe. My mother telling them to sit "just so". Not to disturb my grandmother, Isabella, who was blind.

 One Christmas, in the late 1940's, my mother and father went to Saskatchewan to spend a few weeks over the holidays. My father  loved the horses. And they him. My mother loved being home for Christmas.

 1959

 My grandfather always looked dapper . Especially in the Christmas photos.  Especially after Isabella died. he always looked his best.My mother would lay out his suit, and press his shirt.

 And then there was the year that it snowed. In Victoria......

 1425 Fairfield Road. Deep in snow. So clean and white. So unusual. 

 My mother told me once that they used to drive the Malahat in some winter weather to go to Campbell River to spend time with friends. It was little more than a rough road. Took them three days.

 But they would do it . To meet up with friends for New Years. Dancing. Dining. Silliness, as my mother would say.

 And those Christmas get togethers with relatives  they didn't know that well. Relatives who stayed. And ate everything in sight.

1959

 But my mother's favourite times were the New Year's Parties where she could get dressed up. She loved beautiful clothes. They would dress to the nines and dance the night away.

 And there was always the Night Before Christmas Story to be read with young nieces who stayed over. The excitement and anticipation of a child's Christmas...

 Then there were the early 60's. I was adopted. At Christmas. My father gave me a Bear. My mother wielded the camera.................

 My dad at Christmas. All those relatives did not visit anymore. The house had a different mood. It was our place at last.

 Packages to open. Tied up with string. I still remember  doing this with him. It is strong in my memory. 

A time when my mother was content to just be. With me.

 And that  Christmas, in the not too distant future,  when we were content to just be. With each other.,,,,,

 “Oh! lovely voices of the sky Which hymned the Saviour's birth,Are ye not singing still on high, Ye that sang, "Peace on earth"?
― Felicia Hemans

2016

Photographs 2019

little tree.......

(1961)

LITTLE TREE (1920) by e.e. Cummings

little tree ...little silent Christmas tree,
you are so little, you are more like a flower.

 who found you in the green forest, and were you very sorry to come away?  see I will comfort you because you smell so sweetly

 I will kiss your cool bark and hug you safe and tight,
just as your mother would, only don't be afraid

 look the spangles that sleep all year in a dark box
dreaming of being taken out and allowed to shine, the balls the chains red and gold the fluffy threads,

 put up your little arms and I'll give them all to you to hold.

 every finger shall have its ring,

 and there won't be a single place dark or unhappy

 Then when you're quite dressed

 You'll stand in the window

 For everyone to see

 And how they'll stare!

 Oh but you'll be very proud

 And my little sister and I

 will take hands..........

 And looking up at our beautiful tree

 We'll dance and sing

 Noel Noel!

 Photographs 2019 e.e. Cummings (1894-1962)American poet, artist. author, and playwright. He wrote about 2,900 poems, two autobiographical novels, four plays, and several essays.

FINDING MY WAY HOME.......a Christmas story.

 “Out of the Darkness, Into the Light: The Time before Christmas is the Time of Light and mutual Love.”
― Sir Kristian Goldmund Aumann, 24 Days Until Christmas: 24 Christmas Poems

 A while ago, well, a few Christmases ago, I begged  my parents for an Advent Wreathe. The kind with real candles. Five candles. (1-2-3-4-5)..I used to count them. Just to make sure. 

 One candle for each : Hope/Peace/Joy/Love and Christmas day. 
(1-2-3-4-5) Fifth one was pink. I liked pink.

 I could hardly wait to light them. With my dad's matches. Back then he had taught me to roll his cigarettes and light them for him......I was five at the time. I was fascinated by matches.It was fun.  My dad was pretty cool about stuff.  My mother would just shake her head and tell him to hide the matches.

 We lit a candle each week. I got to light each candle. With my dad standing there. Then he would hide the matches . I wanted to light them all.....(no, I did NOT burn down the house)

 At the same time, there were the Christmas elves , the pixies, we had on the tree. (Years later I gave them all away. Regretted it for years after that.) They had held a place of honour on our tree. And I tossed them like orange peelings.

 Now the past few years I've spent tracking them all down. Has taken time and I searched for  hours on the internet, trying to find them. And I did. Lovely little things.I have them home again....
                            Rumpa pa pum....

 The most special ones were Hansel and Gretel. After my dad and I lit the Advent Wreathe, we would place Hansel and Gretel inside the Christmas Tree.  Near  one of the Christmas lights. We pretended it was the  Christmas Star. So they  could find their way home by following  that star, he used to tell me. I knew the story well...

 Now, years later, once again , pixies live in our Christmas Tree. Following yonder Star like they used to do.
                                                        Rumpa pa pum......

 ( though the  Drummer Pixies still are want to drum very loud )

The Christmas I turned six, I found the matches  for the Advent wreathe. They were tucked inside a teacup in the sideboard.   My dad was still sleeping, mum gone to work.  I knew how to light the wreathe. I put the wreathe in the sink. I figured I could turn on the tap if I needed to.I lit all of the candles ( 1-2-3-4-5) I still liked the Christmas Day candle.

It was pink . 

 I got Hansel and Gretel from the tree and had them dance around the wreathe in the sink. Following yonder star, so I mused. A candle toppled over. (No, I did NOT burn down the house). I did, however , singe Hansel's hat a tad. I snuffed out the candles. Except for the pink one. I let it burn for a minute or two before blowing it out. It was my favourite. 

 I returned Hansel and Gretel to the tree. So they could continue to follow the star. Hansel with his burnt hat. Gretel with a look of 
"I told you so". 

 That was my father's last Christmas. He could not speak those last few months. And so, I told HIM the story of Hansel and Gretel . Their story grew to include  climbing mountains, and forging streams,  with  the other pixies in tow. My father would watch and listen.And when it was time to put them back in the tree, he would point to Hansel's singed hat and waggle his finger at me. 

They still  follow Yonder Star, even though they've found their way home many times. That last Christmas my father handed the matches to me and let me  light the Advent wreathe, its candles of Hope, Peace, Joy and Love, (1-2-3-4-5),burnt down to almost nothing.  And I still discover myself  finding the way home again and again....

 “It is now, at Advent, that I am given the chance to suspend all expectation...and instead to revel in the mystery.”
― Jerusalem Jackson Greer, A Homemade Year

Photographs 2019