The ghosts of Christmases past (neither wide open, nor closed--replies entirely optional)
Margaret sat looking at the Christmas tree, reflecting. It was a simple one, the ornaments all obviously new, in matched sets. She had chosen simple glass balls, and candy canes with bows on them. She was sucking on one of those now, her thoughts far away.
She remembered childhood Christmases. They were happy, but in a two-dimensional way. A child getting toys is always happy. Then there would be the seemingly endless round, culminating New Year's morning, of official visits and she and her sister would either be told to keep out of the way, or dressed in velvets and crinolines to be put on display, to smile, and shake hands to any number of strangers. There was a code to be followed.
"You remember General So-and-so Margaret," meant that she had met him before and she was to shake hands with a "yes, it is good to see you again, General." Otherwise it was "Margaret, this is Colonel Whosits," and she was to shake hands with a "I am pleased to meet you, Colonel Whosits, how do you do." There would be stony silence at the breakfast table next day if any misstep was made.
She didn't recall any meaning there--any acknowledgement that the holiday was about anything other than presents and career.
It was the Christmases far away from home that showed her that meaning--the deep meaning. Her best holiday memories were of places where there weren't many gifts, or comforts, or security, just other people reaching out. She teared up, remembering Trapper trying so hard to save a soldier, it was hopeless they all knew, it was even cruel to go on with hopeless, painful procedures, but they continued because no one wanted that soldier's little girl to think of Christmas as they day her daddy died. They were able to keep him alive until it had been December 26th for a few minutes.
She smiled, remembering the year that Father Mulcahy's seemingly endless supply of faith and charity finally neared it's bottom. They had gathered, that Christmas Eve, the year that he could see no hope that anything would be different in the world, that Christmas really was meaningless, and sang to him the song they had practiced secretly for weeks. The light that rekindled on his face then, she would never forget.
She sat, singing the song to herself, wondering what new life was dawning for her now--where future Christmases would find her, and who would be there, as she quietly sang,
"Dona nobis pacem." with Christmas lights shining on her face.
She remembered childhood Christmases. They were happy, but in a two-dimensional way. A child getting toys is always happy. Then there would be the seemingly endless round, culminating New Year's morning, of official visits and she and her sister would either be told to keep out of the way, or dressed in velvets and crinolines to be put on display, to smile, and shake hands to any number of strangers. There was a code to be followed.
"You remember General So-and-so Margaret," meant that she had met him before and she was to shake hands with a "yes, it is good to see you again, General." Otherwise it was "Margaret, this is Colonel Whosits," and she was to shake hands with a "I am pleased to meet you, Colonel Whosits, how do you do." There would be stony silence at the breakfast table next day if any misstep was made.
She didn't recall any meaning there--any acknowledgement that the holiday was about anything other than presents and career.
It was the Christmases far away from home that showed her that meaning--the deep meaning. Her best holiday memories were of places where there weren't many gifts, or comforts, or security, just other people reaching out. She teared up, remembering Trapper trying so hard to save a soldier, it was hopeless they all knew, it was even cruel to go on with hopeless, painful procedures, but they continued because no one wanted that soldier's little girl to think of Christmas as they day her daddy died. They were able to keep him alive until it had been December 26th for a few minutes.
She smiled, remembering the year that Father Mulcahy's seemingly endless supply of faith and charity finally neared it's bottom. They had gathered, that Christmas Eve, the year that he could see no hope that anything would be different in the world, that Christmas really was meaningless, and sang to him the song they had practiced secretly for weeks. The light that rekindled on his face then, she would never forget.
She sat, singing the song to herself, wondering what new life was dawning for her now--where future Christmases would find her, and who would be there, as she quietly sang,
"Dona nobis pacem." with Christmas lights shining on her face.