The Joy of Christmas

by Amy Newmark

  “Your mom doesn’t think they are ugly,” he would always say, and purchase one anyway.

  This time, I had found an elegant, expensive Christmas sweater — a black silky cardigan embroidered with small red and green beads forming a beautiful pattern of poinsettias on the right shoulder. It would look beautiful on my mom.

  Dad insisted on the sweater he was holding. It featured six different multicolored fabrics sewn together with a different dancing snowman on each color block, and it didn’t even look Christmassy. “That sweater looks like a kindergarten teacher’s dream, Dad. Please, no,” I pleaded.

  “Tell you what. You buy your fancy-schmancy sweater, and I’ll buy this one. She will open both and we will see whose sweater she likes better,” he proposed.

  “Deal,” I said, confident I wasn’t losing this bet.

  On Christmas morning, my family arrived at my parents’ house to celebrate and eat. The time to open presents came and we gathered around the Christmas tree. Mom opened my present first.

  “It’s nice,” she said and smiled. “I love the material.”

  I smirked at my father, who pretended not to notice.

  Then she opened Dad’s. And gasped.

  “It’s adorable! Where did you find it?” she exclaimed. She stood up and pulled the dancing snowmen on over her shirt.

  She looked down at the red, orange, purple, yellow, black and blue color blocks, the snowmen appearing to dance to celebrate their victory.

  Dad smiled and winked. Words were not needed. I knew I lost. I didn’t know this woman better than this man. They had been married for thirty-five years.

  Dad passed away from cancer before the next Christmas. Mom still wears all the ugly Christmas sweaters Dad bought her, and somehow they don’t appear as ugly to me as they once did. I smile when I see her donning the sparkly green argyle, the kitten popping out of the present, or the multi-colored snowmen. Now I tell her, “You look nice, Mom.”

  ~Mary Anglin-Coulter

  Flex Time

  The funny thing about firemen is, night and day, they are always firemen.

  ~Gregory Widen, Backdraft

  My husband Howard was a volunteer firefighter who later worked his way up to Captain. We knew that our holidays were going to be disrupted by other family’s emergencies, so we devised a plan. To assuage our young daughter’s worries, we wrote to Santa and let him know that “our” Christmas was going to be celebrated on a different day every year. Santa obviously received the letter, because he never missed filling our Christmas stockings on the appointed mornings!

  On “our” Christmas Day we stayed in our pajamas for hours, like other families, while the turkey went into the oven and the gifts were opened. We enjoyed a lovely Christmas meal and went to bed happy with our uninterrupted “special” family holiday.

  On the actual Christmas Day, the firehouse would hold a “family” dinner for the on-call firefighters and paramedics. A few police officers in our small town also joined us. Our family attended many of these meals, and just like clockwork, as the turkey and gravy hit the table, the 9-1-1 alarms would sound and all the first responders would rush out, leaving their hot dinners and their disappointed, yet understanding, families.

  We taught our daughter Ariel that it is not the specific date that makes the holidays. Years later, she became a volunteer firefighter/ paramedic, too, so our two-Christmases tradition continued at home and at the station.

  Now that Ariel is married with children, our holiday “tradition” continues because her husband’s job demands that he work most holidays. Because our family doesn’t care which day we celebrate Christmas, my son-in-law volunteers to work on Christmas and he makes time and a half. We’ve turned our family flexibility into a benefit that takes all the stress out of the holiday and makes our holidays together even more special.

  ~Mary Ellen Angelscribe

  The Envelope

  Rich the treasure, sweet the pleasure.

  ~John Dryden

  My brother Brandon and I had opened all of the packages under the tree. All that was left was an envelope. We knew that envelopes usually contained cards, and if we were lucky they also contained gift cards or cash.

  My dad looked almost like he’d forgotten about the envelope as he casually handed it to me. I broke its seal and discovered inside a 3x5 index card with a border of glitter surrounding a poem.

  Of course, I don’t remember the poem by heart, but its mysterious rhyming message instructed us to go downstairs. We were excited. Maybe we were getting those skis we had wanted.

  What we found downstairs was another envelope, containing another index card with a border of glitter surrounding a poem. This poem told us to go to Dad’s car. Were the skis already in the car, ready to go?

  Nope. There was just another envelope containing another glittery index card. This one told us to go to Mom’s office downtown. Neither of us was old enough to drive. This meant we had to implore our parents to hurry up and get dressed and finish drinking their coffee and get going. They took forever.

  Eventually, we made it to Mom’s office where we found — you guessed it — a glitter-bedecked poem telling us to go somewhere else. This time it was to KATU, the TV station where Dad worked. By now, our curiosity was stretched to the limits of our imaginations. Were we meeting someone famous? Were we going to be on TV? It absolutely didn’t make sense to keep skis at the studio — Dad had a desk in an open area shared with the other reporters.

  We soon found out, however, that such a desk is a lovely place to keep a 3x5 index card complete with glitter and a poem. The instruction on this poem perplexed us more than any other. It told us to go to an unfamiliar address. Fortunately for us, our parents knew how to get there.

  The car stopped in front of the unknown house. It felt like the end of the hunt. My dad handed us the final envelope. The final poem told us to knock on the door and say, “Merry Christmas! Is Humphrey here?”

  This is where faith in our parents came in. We didn’t know who would answer the door, and we didn’t know what a Humphrey was. They shooed us along as they lingered by the car. We peered back to see their smiling faces and built up the courage to knock on the door. As anticipated, a stranger opened. After we recited the greeting, the smiling woman wished us a Merry Christmas and invited us in. We looked to our parents for permission — they were beaming. We were confused. We passed the threshold, and the stranger disappeared down a long hallway. Mom and Dad moved closer to the front door.

  While we waited, I examined the room. The yellow, brown and orange couch looked decades old. Across the room, there was a large faded portrait of a well-groomed lap dog. Then I heard a weird sound — like a miniature thunderstorm. And then I saw something coming down the hallway toward us at top speed: a pristine cloud of white fur.

  Dad was standing behind us by then. “Merry Christmas,” he said. “He’s yours.” And the woman, who turned out to be a breeder, handed us the puff of fur.

  That was the day that Humphrey, a ten-week-old Maltese, became part of our family. It was a gift far surpassing anything I could have imagined — including a set of skis.

  ~Chelsea Hall

  A Stocking for Tammie

  The happiest moments of my life have been the few which I have passed at home in the bosom of my family.

  ~Thomas Jefferson

  I had just finished hanging the last stocking when our oldest son, Jeff, walked into the living room with his new girlfriend Tammie. Tammie and Jeff had known each other since the fourth grade and had dated in high school until we moved away during their junior year.

  Their paths had crossed again recently. Both were parents by this time, but no longer in relationships. It looked like a meant-to-be love story.

  Now Tammie said, “Aw, I want a stocking up there, too.” She was looking at the long line of red and white stockings that reached from one end of an enormous beam to the other. My husband had sanded and polished this beam to perfection, then mount
ed it to the wall with gigantic wooden braces.

  Each of our children, their spouses, and their children had a stocking, and each stocking holder was different, representing something unique to that person.

  That wooden beam has always been the main attraction in our living room, where it extends the entire length of one wall. I display my most treasured photos on this shelf and it’s considered to be a badge of honor to make it onto “Mom’s shelf.”

  At Christmastime, you know you’ve made it when your stocking is added to the long parade of red and white tacked onto that shelf.

  Now Jeff took me aside so Tammie wouldn’t hear and asked, “Mom, do you happen to have an extra Christmas stocking I could use?”

  After telling him that I was pretty sure we didn’t have one, I inquired as to why he was asking.

  He said he had bought Tammie a diamond pendant necklace for Christmas and thought it would be fun to put it in a stocking. I didn’t have any extra matching stockings so, instead, Jeff and I fashioned one from a regular man’s sports sock. We wrote TAMMIE on it with a black permanent marker and attached a red bow to the cuff with a large safety pin.

  Jeff slipped the beautifully gift-wrapped necklace into the foot of the sock and we left it in my bedroom so that I could hang it next to Jeff’s stocking on the shelf when Tammie wasn’t looking.

  On Christmas morning all the kids and grandkids were there early for breakfast before opening gifts. When Tammie walked into the living room with Jeff, she couldn’t help but notice the new stocking hanging from our shelf; and there was no doubt that it was hers with the bold handwritten TAMMIE on it.

  “Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh! Thank you so much!” she squealed with delight!

  She continued her fervent babbling while running over for a closer look, “I love it! It’s perfect! This is the best Christmas ever!”

  While another girl might have been offended by this stocking, Tammie understood our sense of humor well, and knew it was our way of saying, “You’re one of us, and we love you!”

  Later when the kids took down their stockings to see what Santa left for them, Tammie was overjoyed with her beautiful necklace; but, quite honestly, I don’t think it got quite as enthusiastic a reaction as her stocking.

  Tammie and Jeff were married by the following Christmas, and it was a blessing to hang two new stockings on our shelf for Tammie’s children.

  As our family continues to grow, so does our parade of Christmas stockings. Although I’ve suggested to Tammie many times that we upgrade her stocking to a lovely store-bought one, she adamantly refuses, claiming hers is the most beautiful one on the entire shelf.

  ~Connie Kaseweter Pullen

  A Heavenly Timetable

  Christmas is a necessity. There has to be at least one day of the year to remind us that we’re here for something else besides ourselves.

  ~Eric Sevareid

  After plunking himself down next to me at the breakfast table, my husband Chris gave me “The Look.” I knew what that meant; his brain had hatched another big idea! “How about breaking from our normal Christmas traditions this year to take a train trip to Seattle and then across the country to Milwaukee to spend Christmas with my family?” he asked.

  I grinned. This was one of his better ideas! We were both captivated by the magical, romantic allure of train travel. With two young sons, ages six and two, I knew romance was unlikely, but I hoped for magical. I didn’t have to think twice. “Let’s do it!”

  On December 21st, we boarded Amtrak’s luxurious Coast Starlight in Los Angeles for the first leg of a seventy-four-hour odyssey. When the train departed the station, we were already enraptured.

  We spent the first day learning to dine, balance, and promenade successfully without dropping our food, ricocheting off the narrow corridor walls, or rebounding into another passenger’s lap. Moving between the jostling cars also required a new skillset. Our boys erupted in belly laughs as they perfected their train legs and learned how to buckle themselves into our sleeper compartment’s top berth. We relished hours spent in the spacious lounge car playing games, learning magic tricks, nibbling fancy snacks and Christmas chocolates, and surveying the breathtaking landscape. By day’s end we felt like train-travel pros.

  In Seattle we departed the Coast Starlight and boarded Amtrak’s Empire Builder to journey east. When we stopped in Spokane around midnight, I was grateful to be ensconced safely in a heated sleeper, as the outside temperature registered below zero.

  In Spokane we remained on our train and awaited the arrival of another carrying connecting passengers from Oregon. Assured the wait would be short, we went to bed thinking we’d sleep through most of Idaho. But when I drew aside our room curtain at sunrise, the Spokane station sign greeted me. We hadn’t budged an inch. Our train was now six hours behind schedule, and we languished for another three hours before the awaited train finally arrived. After those sleeper cars were carefully attached to ours, we departed.

  We soon crossed the Washington-Idaho border, turned northeast, and zipped across the Idaho Panhandle. As we neared the entrance to Montana’s Glacier National Park, fresh snow lay around us, pristine except for a few deer tracks. The towering evergreens bore mounds of snow on their outstretched, bowed limbs, inviting us into their secluded winter wonderland. To us Southern Californians, it all looked so… Christmassy!

  When we emerged from the pristine backwoods into a sprawling meadow, a sprinkling of rustic log cabins balancing geometric-shaped snow stacks greeted us. Some single-story cabins were swaddled in snow to their eaves. They appeared to be hibernating contentedly, patiently awaiting their owners’ spring homecoming.

  The only thing distracting us from this breathtaking spectacle was our slowing train, which soon screeched to a stop. We peered out windows in curiosity before learning that the rail switches had frozen, which meant rail switching had to be performed the old-fashioned way — by hand. To accomplish that feat, the engineers would shovel through snow and then chop out the ice to access the switches.

  My husband and I locked eyes. Quick mental calculations confirmed we wouldn’t make our scheduled arrival of early Christmas Eve. I hastened to our room to verify the heat still worked and then tested our toilet’s water flow. So far, so good.

  After two backbreaking hours spent hacking and scooping in freezing temperatures — while most passengers munched snacks in train car warmth and admired the sublime scenery, and I test-flushed our toilets several times — the crew safely completed the rail switching, and we were once again on our way.

  But some fiercely agitated passengers became persistently vocal about their displeasure. Many were making train connections in Chicago for passage to East Coast cities, and now they’d likely arrive too late to enjoy Christmas festivities with their families.

  Yet, as their agitation level increased, our family’s joy skyrocketed. The train crew didn’t have control over the weather, and we knew they were doing their best to get us safely to our destination. Our boys certainly weren’t keeping track of time. This was an adventure! And I was determined not to allow a schedule failure to derail our enjoyment.

  Finally, to avoid hearing the escalating complaints, Chris and I ushered the boys into our room and shut the door. It was already after dark on Christmas Eve.

  As we rolled through North Dakota under a crystal clear sky, I was mesmerized by the spectacle outside our window. A full moon illuminated the ice-clad, iridescent prairie for miles.

  The light remained with us as we departed North Dakota and crossed Minnesota and Wisconsin. It illuminated the rails for miles. We felt bathed in it. A sense of glory and power remained, and the fear I’d felt soon melted into a soothing sensation of divine, protective love. It was the next best thing to a caroling Heavenly host! If the train had been on schedule, we would have arrived during daylight hours and missed that radiant Christmas Eve moon.

  At 2:00 a.m. Christmas Day, we arrived safely at our destination. Although there was celebrat
ion with family yet to be enjoyed, our hearts overflowed with the magical gift of our Christmas train, which traveled on its own heavenly timetable: late, yet right on time to give us a magical Christmas Eve.

  ~Andrea Arthur Owan

  Beyond the Arctic Circle

  We live in a wonderful world that is full of beauty, charm and adventure. There is no end to the adventures we can have if only we seek them with our eyes open.

  ~Jawaharlal Nehru

  The snow was like a white blanket covering the fields as far as the eye could see. Now and then it glistened in the low winter sun, while the fir trees shimmered in their white coats. Occasionally, the icy arctic wind shook the trees, briefly freeing them of their burden, before the snow started to fall again.

  Standing alone in this wintry scene was a house. Smoke curled out of the chimney, making it seem homey and welcoming. I watched as the smoke turned into different shapes and silhouettes.

  I was whisked back to my childhood as I entered the house. I couldn’t believe that I was here at last and I had to pinch myself to make sure it wasn’t a dream. It was an enchanted world filled with sweets and toys, and as I turned to walk to the fire, I finally saw him — smiling, rosy-cheeked and wearing his familiar red suit.

  For many years I had imagined visiting Lapland to meet Father Christmas. I had seen vacations advertised on television, and looked at holiday brochures. The more I read, the more magical the trip sounded.

  By the way, did I mention that I was in my forties, had no children, and absolutely hated the cold? But did I care? Not one bit! I decided that for once I wouldn’t moan about the cold. Of course I could cope with temperatures way below freezing. I would also ignore my fellow travelers if they looked in disdain at this soon-to-be middle-aged woman traveling such a long way just to see Santa.