ƵTwas the night before Christmas when all through our house, not a creature was stirring, well, maybe a mouse. Not to mention three yipping puppies, two mewing kittens and a fake partridge on the fake twig of a fake tree.
The children are all gone, you see Ƶ married, divorced, engaged afar. The two grandchildren so far will be home in their own little beds awaiting the arrival of St. Nicholas, ever certain of the jolly oneƵs navigational skills and the bright guiding light of a certain red-nosed reindeer.
Never mind that temperatures have hovered in the 70s here in South Carolina for weeks, dipping below 50 only once or twice to remind us that it is December, after all. Set aside for the moment the sickness and suffering of so many these days; Christmas isnƵt a certain set of circumstances. It is a state of mind by which adults can indulge their earliest memories and children can be swept into a world of snow with the gentle shake of a tiny glass globe.
Yes, admittedly, Christmas can be an annoying confection of unbridled commercialism. But within the homes of those who share the faith Ƶ or at least the tradition Ƶ the annual ritual of anticipation and delight is worth aggravation to the mature psyche. Or so IƵve decided in justifying my own rather elaborate tending of the Christmas spirit, notwithstanding all the preceding.
In my private life, IƵm a relentless decorator, not just during holidays but on all days of all years. ItƵs a compulsion born of a rocky childhood where multiple mothers came and went after mine died young. My second mother, the one I called Mama, was an interior designer, a graduate of the New York School of Interior Design, like her mom before her.
I call MamaƵs on-location reign of just seven years in our house as our Camelot period, which, coincidentally, ended the same year President John F. Kennedy was killed.
When she left with my little sister, leaving me with my father and brother, she took a lot of the beauty, light and joy with her. At 12, I didnƵt hold it against her. All these years later, IƵm grateful for her love, which was steadfast to the end of her life at 90, and for her showing me how to create beauty from whatever you have on hand.
By her hand, Christmas was pure magic. She was like Tinker Bell with a wand that left sparkles in her wake. Gilt cardboard cutouts gleamed above doorways. Tabletops glistened with silver candlesticks and crystal bowls filled with candy. Candlelight dappled the covers of Christmas books stacked on coffee tables. And music to my little ears, ice cubes tinkled in fancy cocktail glasses while Perry Como sang ƵSilent Night.Ƶ
My brother Jack and I were sent to bed early so that Santa would have time to install batteries in the barking poodle and then carry a new canoe into the living room. Jack and I would lie awake upstairs, whispering our best guesses as to SantaƵs current location. Finally, we allowed ourselves to fall asleep in the belief that Santa would skip our house if we didnƵt.
Fast forward and IƵm a parent, determined to master the art of loving through beauty and, once a year, to create Christmas magic. Fast-forward again and IƵm a grandparent no longer expected to put on much of a show. Our three sons have their own families and commitments to tend now. I briefly considered a minimalist approach to the season, but my maximalist soul prevailed.
ThereƵs a strong possibility no one will see any of it, but thatƵs OK. Ƶ I carried a dozen Christmas bins from the basement, wondering when exactly I had lost my mind, I realized that I decorate for Christmas for its own sake Ƶ for the joy of creation itself, for beauty itself, even if itƵs beheld only by its creator.
I wrap gifts and tie bows and stand in line at the UPS Store, for the sake of the season. The contents of my boxes may not measure up to gold, frankincense and myrrh, but the giving and receiving of even the smallest thing is a spiritually creative act all its own.
Understanding that many people havenƵt had the experiences IƵve had and may not have the wherewithal to indulge their childrenƵs dreams, I would offer only this: The spirit of Christmas is within each of us and available to anyone. What I learned so long ago through tumult and heartbreak is that we bring our own cheer to the party and create our own joy.
Merry Christmas Ƶ and may your spirits be merry and bright.
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