Christmas Past

Christmases Past





Tis the season for Christmas movies and in watching Scrooge for the thirtieth time, I decided to take a trip down memory lane to my Christmases past.



I was not surprised that it was not the gifts or lack of gifts that brought out cherished memories, but tiny moments of love or laughter that stood out.



Thought I would share some of those, so others might reflect on similar moments, and perhaps relax enough during this hectic season to take time to appreciate the small things.



# 1 memory “It does not take riches to laugh.”

When I was seventeen my sister lived on an Indian reservation in Northern Minnesota. I drove up to her North shore home for the holidays. Things were tight for my sister. She did not have money for fancy decorations. Getting a tree was an easy task, since my sister lived in the woods. We did not have to spend money for a tree, just the time and energy to cut one down. No fancy ornaments or colored lights, but out came the string and on went the popcorn on the stove. Well, my sister was so poor; she had the pan, but no lid. So when the popcorn began to pop-- it flew all over the kitchen. We chased after the flying popcorn, catching it in our bowls, laughing the whole time. We trimmed the tree with popcorn and cranberries and paper chains. Okay, some of the popcorn went in our mouths, but the point is we did not need fancy trimmings to enjoy each other.



#2 memory “Always stay young at heart.”

One Christmas when I was a teen my church had a Jesse Tree at the front of the church. Then each Sunday during advent, children were to come up and place an ornament on the branches. The ornaments depicted the events up until Christ’s birth.



My dad at the time was sixty-five years old. He was a big man, over six feet, barrel-chested and pot-bellied, and a loud voice to match his stature. The first Sunday of advent I was sitting in-between my mother and father for mass. Imagine my mother’s surprise, and mine, when the priest asked for the children to come up and place their decorations on the tree, and up pops my dad. As the children shuffled up the isle, there was my dad amongst them, all two hundred and sixty pounds of him. There were murmurs in the pews and I slunk down lower in my mortification. He placed his handcrafted decoration reverently on the tree and trekked back to his seat next to me. My mom chastised him all the way home for embarrassing us. Finally after being able to get a word in edgewise, this is what he had to say,

“ Mary” “The priest said, ‘Children come up and place your ornaments on the tree’ am I not a child of God? We should never be too old to celebrate the origins of our belief.“



I still was embarrassed at the time, and yes he continued putting ornaments on the Jesse tree for the rest of the season. I now realize what great insight my dad had, and courage to act upon those revelations.

#3 memory “Don’t take things so seriously”

I married my dad! No truer statement could be made. Asking my husband to go to the store is a fool’s errand. He usually comes back with everything but…what was on the list.

My mom’s experience was much the same.



One Christmas Eve my mother asked my father to go out to the local store and pick up some needed household items. My dad agreed to do the task, and at least mentioned he might take a little longer, since he had last minute Christmas shopping.



He arrived home and took off for the garage to wrap his presents. My mom interrupted his endeavors with an inquiry to the items she had sent him for.

“Oh yeah, I’m sorry I got carried away and must have forgot.”

She was non-to happy at this revelation. The stores were now closed and she continued to gripe at my dad the remainder of the night. Christmas morning we attended church and then returned home to open presents. As my mom opened those labeled with her name she unwrapped a beautiful expensive perfume bottle of Chennel #9. The next package contained light bulbs, the next toilet paper, and the next salt for the soft water machine. All the items she had asked dad for.

“Sy, why did you let me go on last night instead of just giving me the items?”

“Mary, you enjoy nagging, that was my part of my gift.”

My dad said this while joining the rest of us in laughter. That taught me to not always take everything so seriously.



I have many more experiences because I am constantly learning but I think this couple should help you to figure out some of your own and hopefully make you smile.

Secret Santa

SECRET (NINJA) SANTA










“Ahhh!!!”

I hear a scream coming from the living room. As I race down the hall, pain-filled words follow the scream.

“I’m blind, I’m blind,” my ex-Marine husband exclaims. He faces my voice, his eyes squinted shut. He is holding a pair of night-vision goggles.

“What happened? “ I ask.

“I almost had him,” he responds.

“Had who?”

“Our Secret Santa! But the noise-sensitive flood lights came on and blinded me through the goggles.”

We’ve had a Secret Santa leaving presents the last couple of days. The gifts are accompanied by a poem coinciding with the twelve days of Christmas. Now my husband and I had both belonged to a military intelligence unit when we met. We now own and operate a martial arts studio. So, sometimes my husband forgets there is a regular world out there that does not require paranoid surveillance.

“Let’s see what he left,” I say walking to the front door.

“Yeah, I guess its okay,” my husband agrees. “He’s long gone by now.”

It’s five gold napkin rings. “Why is it so important to catch our benefactor?” I ask William, playing with the rings.

“I just hate the idea someone can get one on us.”

“What do you mean get one on us?’

“You know, sneak up on us. We are the sneaks.”

I shake my head, and the stakeout continues. Our Santa never comes at the same time, so it makes things difficult. William becomes obsessed and recruits our daughter into the operation. I come home from the studio to find black construction paper on all the windows facing the front of the house. Eyeholes are cut out and there are no lights on inside except for a red glowing chem. light.

“Where is Ciara?” I ask.

“Shhh, bedroom,” he whispers.

I go to our daughter’s bedroom. There she sits. On a chair. Facing the blackened window. Keeping lookout. Through peepholes.

Now it is my turn to yell, and when I let loose with an “Ahh,” my daughter starts and jumps up from the chair. My husband runs down the hall.

“Did you see something? What direction did they come from? Couldn’t you signal quietly?”

I answer in order.

“No. I don’t know. And I’M TIRED OF BEING QUIET!”

Our daughter returns to her post and softly says, “I think there’s something on the porch.”

My husband then gives me the look, the one that says “Thanks a lot” and really doesn’t mean it.

I privately think, he needs a hobby.

This time it is eleven “Lords a Leaping” ornaments. There’s one day left to catch the Ninja Santa.

This time William goes all out. He dresses in his Army cold weather, all white, gear. He climbs on the roof to settle in for the watch.

I’m sitting inside watching “White Christmas” on the tube when a loud war cry comes from out front, followed by an “oomph.”

I race to the front door to see the pursuit in progress. My husband is chasing a black-clad figure down a couple of yards. I pull on my boots to follow, to keep William in check. The Ninja-Santa jumps a neighbor’s fence, and their large but friendly dog tackles the culprit. William pulls the dog off the figure and hauls him to his feet. He removes the hood on the now very docile St. Ninjalas

It is a young 17-year-old from the Taekwondo school.

“Jeesh, Mr. Guy this Twelve Days of Christmas Secret Santa business has been a tradition of my family for years. But this had to be the hardest mission ever.”

William was grinning ear to ear. “Caught ya, didn’t I? Can’t get one over on me.”

I pat the young man on the back and say, “This was the best Christmas present you could have given him.”

But I hope next year our students just give us cookies.