How could
Christmas NOT be my favorite holiday. It
was for me as a child an idyllic time.
Preparations for
the festivities started early in the morning of the day before Christmas.
Father would ask who wanted to go and help cut down the Christmas tree. Of course, being a dyke, I never missed this
trip. Father always let me carry the axe.
We had many trees to choose from--hundreds. A lifetime supply of Christmas trees in the
woods next to our house.
Father would drag
the tree into the house and set it up.
There it would stand by the fireplace patiently waiting to be
decorated. Tree decorating always took
place after dinner on Christmas Eve.
After helping Mother in the kitchen we would gather around the tree
singing carols whilst hanging mostly handmade baubles, snowflake cut outs,
strings of pop corn and cranberries.
Then, of course,
the stockings would be hung by the chimney.
We always took great care in doing this.
My siblings and I were completely exhausted by this time of the day.
Oh, I forgot to mention the ice skating. We
always skated on our pond in the afternoon of this exciting day. It helped to pass the time as the
anticipation of all the Christmas activities was very intense. Mother said we needed to work off our energy.
After the
stockings were hung it was off to bed.
After all, we were told, Santa would not make a stop here unless the
children were asleep.
Christmas morning
was the best time of all. We could go
downstairs and empty our stockings any time we wanted. We could not open any presents until after
the family breakfast and when Father said it was time. Then he would hand out the gifts
one-at-a-time.
Before we knew it
it was time to get ready to go to Grandmother’s for Christmas dinner. It was such
a fun-filled day, and we didn’t even have time to play with our new toys and it
was still a fun-filled day.
Father would go
to the barn, hitch the horse to the sleigh, and park it in front of the
house. That signaled that it was time to
bundle up, pile into the sleigh, and head to Grandmother’s house. It seems that
there was always on Christmas morning new-fallen snow
sparkling in the sunlight brightly decorating the trees as we flew through the
woods on our way to Grandmother’s house.
The horse knew the way, of course.
So even Father could join in the singing most of the way. So it was over the next hill and through a
dale and we were there. Grandmother
always had the plumpest of turkeys ready for us for Christmas dinner. Oh, and Grandmother made the best sticky
pudding for dessert. We all overate and
began feeling quite sick realizing Christmas would soon be over. The party was
coming to an end.
It’s an odd thing
too. Every year was the same. Father never could drive the sleigh
home. I think it has something to do
with his many trips to the barn or the bathroom or somewhere where he would be
alone for quite a few minutes. He said
he had to take his medicine. By the time
we got to Grandmother’s he had to take quite a lot. But that was okay because when he came back
he would feel much better and be really happy--until after dinner at
Grandmother’s and he was so tired he couldn’t even wake up, so Mother would
have to drive the sleigh home.
So it went for
many years. How could Christmas NOT be
my favorite holiday? Does this sound
like a fantastic Christmas? This is a
fantasy Christmas. May yours be just as
merry as mine!
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