An Old-Fashioned Christmas

The warmth and excitement filled every crevice of our simple, impoverished home. It seemed as if even the animals could sense the magic that was so graciously blanketing our house, just as the snow outside.

I can still recall my mother sitting in her rocking chair, legs covered with a hand-made quilt, reading "A Visit from St. Nicholas by Clement Clarke Moore" as we all gathered around her feet. With pure awe and wonder in our hearts, we hung on her every word. Every so often we would look away, glancing through the frosty window.

Every small sound, every bump, peck, ping, every clunk and thump caused us to shrill in eagerness and enthusiasm. Father would grin as he carefully poked the fire and added more logs into the cheerful flames.

We had admiringly chosen our very best socks to hang above the fireplace. Back then we didn't buy our stockings from a store, instead we used what we already had tucked away in our hutches. "Be careful!" mother would say "Don't poke holes in your best socks!" Father would chuckle. "You don't want the oranges and nuts to come falling out." he'd giggle, making light of mother's fuss." Looking back, I now realize that taking care of our stockings wasn't about the oranges and nuts, those little socks had to keep our feet warm for the remainder of winter.

Our Christmas tree was fresh and fragrant, father had searched the surrounding woods earlier that day for the perfect one. It was lovingly embellished with ornaments that we had made ourselves. Strings of popcorn, cranberries, pinecones and stars cut from paper. There was no electric lights, and we didn't mind at all. Later that evening, mother would adorn the branches with some of her home-made sugar cookies. When she wasn't looking we would sneak one off, she'd just smile and pretend that she hadn't noticed. Little did we know, she had placed them there just for us.

Falling asleep on Christmas Eve was a real challenge. "Santa won't come if you're awake!" mother would warn. "And don't pretend because he knows the difference." father would quickly add. We would squeeze our eyes tightly shut as we wiggled and squirmed in our bed. Mother would come in one last time before blowing out the candle. She'd carefully tuck us in, wrapping us tightly and snuggly in soft, warm quilts that smelt of cedar.

We could hear mother and father secretively whispering amongst themselves with the occasional giggle coming from the living-room. Every so often father would peek in on us. At some point, our busy minds would get the best of us and we'd drift away into a magic, dream-filled slumber.

As the very first light of morning made it's way inside, our tiny feet would hit the cool, wooden floor. Our once plain living-room had been magically transformed into a place of delight and wonder. Our stockings were bursting with fresh fruits, nuts and a big ol' stick of pepermint for each of us. An assortment of delectable candies and cakes spread over the tables filled our senses with pure delectation as we stuffed our cheeks like blissful, little squirrels.

Mother would pull her warm, wool shawl tightly around her as she watched with pride and reverence beaming from her face. Father would be in the corner, smoking his pipe with joy and satisfaction, saying not a word.

I will never truly understand how they made it all possible, but the space beneath our tree was never bare on Christmas morning. We would each recieve a brand-new pair of shoes and two sets of warm, cozy clothes, and of course that one special toy that we admired from afar for so long.

Not only had our father went out into the bitter-cold to find us a tree, he also hunted our turkey each and every year. As we took in the magic and delighted in the most special occasion, our house would be filled with the scent of hot, buttery turkey, fresh cranberries, cinnamon, apple pie and mother's delicious home-made bread.

We were poor in money but we were as rich as kings when it came to love. Even as children we understood that the true magic of Christmas wasn't about the gifts under our tree, the true magic was what we shared in our hearts and how we loved one another so dearly.

These memories will live warmly in my heart for as long as I live. I wouldn't trade one single moment of them for all of the money in the world. You can keep your fancy, modern holidays full of stress and aggravation. I choose to spend these days within my own memories, a simpler time when the true meaning of Christmas was found within a familiar, warm place.