When December of nineteen fifty-seven came I was a worried little girl. The death of my father earlier that year had changed so many different things. I worried that Christmas would not be the same. I feared that Santa might not know to come to our home. So many silly concerns invaded my childish brain, but then my mother began to follow our usual Christmas traditions one by one and everything seemed to be alright.
We lit our advent wreath and said prayers at night. We made dozens of cookies and stored them in tins in case any visitors might arrive at our home. On a cold wet Saturday we picked out a Christmas tree in a lot near where we lived. The next day we decorated it just as we always had. We went Christmas shopping for our grandparents and each other. We splurged for a nativity set that we showcased on a bookshelf. My mother sat at the dining table signing and addressing Christmas cards. Wrapped gifts began to appear under the tree and Mama played Christmas music on our Victrola. I began to relax.
Soon people that we knew came to see us. We gave them the cookies we had made and little gifts that Mama had set aside for them. Cards came in big batches every single day. We went driving around to see the Christmas lights and went to mass on Christmas Eve. Then we met with my aunts and uncles and cousins at my grandmother’s home. On Christmas morning when my brothers and I awoke we rushed into the living room. There under the tree were gifts for each of us. Santa had come and all seemed right with the world.
I suppose that I have continued to celebrate a very traditional Christmas throughout all of the rest of my life. I sometimes think that it has a psychological effect on me. Knowing that there is something that changes little over time has been quite soothing to my sometimes anxious tendencies. Because of that I try to keep the customs of my childhood going no matter what is happening.
I begin by rewatching all of my favorite Christmas movies once Thanksgiving has come and gone. Later I play Christmas music for several hours each day. I get into the spirit and think of all the years past and the people who helped and inspired me to reach the place where I am today. I know that my life has been filled with the good fortune of being surrounded by wonderful people and my thoughts go to them as I prepare for all of the Christmas customs that I want to repeat as long as I am able.
Each year I sit down just as my mother did and address almost a hundred Christmas cards to friends and relatives. As time has gone by fewer and fewer people seem to be continuing this custom that was at one time so prevalent. With each passing year I get fewer and fewer cards in return for the ones that I have sent, but nonetheless I want people to know that I am thinking of them in the season. I feel the love that I have for them when I write down their names and addresses. In that moment I think of the times we have shared and hope that my little card tells them how much they mean to me.
I usually make dozens and dozens of cookies, but this year I will be purchasing them since I have been commanded to stay off of my injured ankle for the duration of the month. Luckily I had already decorated my home when the accident occurred so the trees and the lights are twinkling just as they always fo. The nativity that my mother purchased so many years ago is standing proudly on a table. Some pieces are missing and Baby Jesus has lost an arm but it is still as beautiful as ever to me.
I meet with the Revere ladies, Adriana, Angie and Romanita for lunch at our favorite Italian restaurant each year. We laugh and love and feel so happy to see each other. Later in the month I meet Judy, the last of the St. Frances Cabrini Church ladies, at Peppers Restaurant. We talk for hours and always plan to meet again in the summer but that has yet to happen. Maybe twenty twenty-four will finally be the year when we get together more than once.
The most recent tradition has been a neighborhood breakfast held at Patrick and Michelle’s house across the street. Everyone comes dressed in pajamas and we feast on donuts, coffee and hot chocolate. We all bring donations for the Ronald McDonald House which Patrick delivers in our name. I have fun getting more and more creative with my pjs each year and then talking with my fabulous neighbors.
I used to have a big sit down dinner on Christmas day. I took out my Christmas china and polished my silver then set the table with a freshly cleaned and ironed tablecloth. The presentation was quite beautiful but I won’t be doing that this year either. Instead I have purchased some lovely disposable dishes and I will have trays of finger foods from the grocery store rather than all of my tasty recipes. The heart of the tradition is in having my brothers and their families with me on Christmas Day. What we eat and how the table looks is secondary to being with them.
The highlight will be Christmas Eve when we gather at my niece’s home and feast on Reuben sandwiches. Afterwards we exchange gifts and have a money drawing like we used to do at my grandmother’s home when we were children. It is always a love fest that feels like what Christmas should be all about.
I hope I never have to give up my traditions. I might have to hand off some of the things I do to the younger members of my family, but it means so much to me to celebrate the birth of Jesus with the people who are so important to me. Somehow the love that was born in the stable at Christmas time rises to a peak on December 25. The magic always comes.
All It Takes Is A Little Love 