Through the changes, the holiday spirit lives on

CATHARINE COOPER

Seems as if the holiday spirit fully seeps into my system just about

the time the cherished day arrives, and just as quickly fades from

the scene. The flurry of parties, shopping and frantic decorating

come to an abrupt halt. The time span between Halloween and Christmas

seems ever shortened, and sadly the year moves toward its end.

An early celebration dinner at my mother’s house awakens cherished

memories. I sit by the side of her Christmas tree, and suddenly, I am

again 7 years old. I play with her collection of stuffed bears, while

recollections of Christmas past flood my mind.

Memories tangle with captured images. A photograph of my second

Christmas shows a small girl, something akin to a windup doll,

dressed in a long white dress, posed next to an elegantly decorated

tree and my first wagon. I assume the wagon is red, but the time

frame is one of black and white film. A distinct scent of pine imbues

the moment.

Flash forward a few years, and my brother and sister crowd the

image. By the stack of goodies, it is clear that we three have made

contact, via our handwritten notes, with the North Pole, and that we

have been rewarded for our “good” behavior. Santa has accepted our

gift of cookies, some are gone and one remains half eaten, and the

gnawed upon carrot indicates that his reindeer have also been fed.

Outside of the frame, my mother puts the finishing touches on

dinner. I can hear my grandparents’ laughter and my nostrils fill

with familiar scents, almost like Pavlov’s famous dog. The heavy

fragrance of my grandmother’s perfume mingles with roasted turkey,

pies and fresh biscuits. The grand table is covered with the

Christmas feast, and like families everywhere, we gather together in

our annual celebration.

Memories of my own children bring the scene forward. Cooper, my

first-born son, is photographed at his first Christmas. Footed

flannel jimmies and golden curls cover the not quite six-month old

child. He has just begun to crawl and suddenly, he is everywhere! He

smiles, surrounded by a pile of gifts from his doting parents and the

beneficent Claus.

Three years pass, and images of his brother Austin add to the

memories. This time, video captures not only their images, but also

their sweet giggling voices. Austin crawls all over his dad, Gentry;

Cooper chases the locomotive of his first train set. The children

quickly transform the gift-wrappings to a pile of trash. My father

arrives for a breakfast of creamed eggs on toast, a pile of crisp

bacon and toasted English muffins.

My contribution to the Christmas tradition has been a living tree.

Its roots are safely tucked in a plastic container covered by a

looped rug skirt my mother has crafted. The tree is resplendent with

handmade ornaments -- small creatures and stars. I wonder where I

found the time between raising those two kids to sew and embroider

those sweat treasures.

With the establishment of my own family, the creation of the

Christmas meal has fallen to my hands. I lay recipes passed from my

great-grandmother on the counter, her tightly curled script barely

visible on the aging paper. As I roll the pastry for the pies, I can

see her hands, the spark in her graying eyes, and feel her gently

touch upon my shoulder. The preparation of the turkey comes from my

mother, clear instructions on defrosting, stuffing and time to roast.

The brilliant cranberry orange relish and the sweet potatoes, a gift

from my dad.

Children grow up -- darn it! Legos and trains shift to trikes and

bikes, and eventually fade in the parade of Transformers, Walkmans,

and Playstations. Eventually, computers and iPods fill the bill. And

finally, “just a check, mom,” replaces gift giving altogether. Now,

it seems a small miracle if we are altogether in the same town and

the same time.

This year, Christmas will be spent at the wedding of my father

Crofton, and his fiance, Janice. In a small chapel under the

shimmering Las Vegas sky, my father will transform his life, yet

again, and commit to the task of doting husband. I send them both

early blessings of patience, honest conversations, and the joy of

loving.

Merry Christmas to each and every one of you!

* CATHARINE COOPER can be reached at [email protected].