Here Comes Santa Claus

Each year, my husband finds a way to take just one more day off before Christmas and we go Christmas shopping, just the two of us.  Well, not Christmas shopping as in grandpa-needs-a-new-bowling-bag-and-mom-would-like-new-slippers, the real Christmas shopping . . . you know.

As the parents of a 9 year old who still believes as well as a 6 year old, we take our Santa-duties very seriously.  As soon as we drop the kids off at school, our tires screech as we peel off to begin our shopping.  We make a day of it and always manage to use every single minute . . . and then a few more just to make it interesting.  We spend our time in the carpool line frantically rearranging and covering all our loot so it cannot be seen by our most innocent passengers about to pile in.  It takes a lot of work when your 9 year old believes . . . you must be come craftier and cleverer.

But it is oh-so worth it.

A Day in Paradise

Yesterday, we went to see Santa Claus.  No. Really.   Grab a cuppa or a bowla and get comfy . . . let's go see Santa Claus . . .

Did you know that Santa, Jr. resides in North America?  Pennsylvania, to be exact.  Think real hard, and I bet you can guess the name of his town . . . Paradise.  Makes sense that Santa Jr. could be found in Paradise, Pennsylvania, doesn't it? 

Here it is; here's where the magic of your childhood Christmases resides.  In an effort to preserve the innocence and excitement of childhood Christmases, Santa Jr. has made a museum of all the wonderful Christmas items he has amassed over his long, magical life, and he shares them with us, here, at The National Christmas Center.  

Tell me, how far would you travel to visit your childhood again?  If you can, run -- don't walk -- to this magical place. 

Okay, ready?  Got your cuppa and get settled . . .

See that familiar image above?  That is the famous Coca Cola scene . . . Santa at the mantle, reading his note, while excited children look on (see them, behind the tree?), a bottle of Coke on the mantle all the while.  Looks like a picture, doesn't it?  Well, it isn't.  It's life-size here, and it's real.  Peer through a window and see into a house decorated in the true 1950s style -- bubble lights, plastic ornaments, even the chrome dinette set in the kitchen.  The t.v. in the corner blares with the Howdie Doodie Show . . . the Christmas episodes, of course.  Maybe you really can go home again.

Remember lying under the Christmas tree when you were a child?  Remember when you thought nothing of sliding right underneath the boughs to look up at all the lights and decorations?  You can do it again!  This time, with no creaks in your back or aching knees . . . because you're standing!  The whole room is oversize scale, making you feel like you're a wee one again . . . and you're right under the Christmas tree -- which covers almost the entire ceiling of the enormous room -- mesmerized by the lights, the decorations, the moving trains, and the unmistakable hi-fi sound of Christmas tunes on vinyl.

See the brown trunk in the middle?  The branches coming out from there?  You really do feel like a kid again.

Did you know that Woolworth's was the first retail store in America to carry Christmas decorations?  Well, it was.  And do you know which of them was the very, very first?  The one in Pennsylvania.  Well, as you can imagine, Santa Jr. has a special place in his heart for Woolworth's and pays special homage to the establishment with a room he has stuffed and stocked and decorated to replicate just how that first Christmas in Woolworth's must have looked.

 

Only 10 cents?  I'll take them all!

A feast for the eyes!

 

Care for a candy?

 

The trees with the bubble lights are hard to find.  My husband and I devoted years to affording one and finding one . . . and here they used to sit en mass.  Amazing to see.

What does your dolly need?

My favorite thing in the world to shop for might be vintage Christmas items . . . this room just fills me with joy.

However, it's time to move on . . . Santa does encourage sharing, after all.

There is a walk through a little fairy tale as thought up by Santa Jr., himself.  As you might expect, it's cute as a button and brings home the real meaning of Christmas.

Snowfrog.

A sheep after my own heart.

If ever there was a Christmas turtle . . .

But, lest you get caught up in all the Santa regalia and glitz of Christmas, the most important matters are. indeed, addressed before you leave.  In life-size, yet astonishing detail . . . 

The look on this wise man's face brought me goosebumps, but, alas, the camera failed to truly capture it.

I hope you enjoyed your virtual trip to The National Christmas Center.   I know I did.  My heart is rejuvenated with the fun and the spirit and the meaning of Christmas, and in that spirit, I make this fervent Christmas wish:

May we, one and all, 

find what we are seeking this Christmas.

Love and joy to you all.

R~

First Snow

It was the first snow of the season on Saturday.  Here are some scenes from our own backyard:

The pigeons, Chicken & Dumpling, finally blend into their surroundings . . . their snowy white usually beams like a beacon.

Look at my sweet, little Dumpling . . . he thinks he's fancy -- and he is!  Sometimes he looks just like a big snowflake with a beak.

And here is my little Chicken.  She's not a chicken, she's a pigeon, but we named her that because we thought she looked like a chicken . . . that is, until we got real chickens.  Anyway, I love her and she feeds my soul . . . when I look at her, I hear a soft music box play in my head.  She looks just like something out of a nursery rhyme.

My son tried to get a chicken to come out and play . . . it was her first look at snow; her answer was a resounding, "No!"

Delusions of Reindeur!

Such fun he is in the snow.

Even St. Fiacre, patron saint of gardeners, had to just pause and behold, for it was such a beautiful day.

And finally Winter, 

with its bitin', whinin' wind, 

and all the land will be mantled with snow.  

~Roy Bean

 

Christmas Melancholy

Remember Christmas when you were a child?

If you were lucky, like I, you had several Christmases of pure joy.  Your life was complete; everyone you knew and loved was part of the season, right there on Christmas Eve or Christmas Day.

There was no one missing.  You missed no one and nothing.   It was all before you.

Every Christmas decoration was pure fun, pure beauty.  No pangs of melancholy over the sequined ornament your long-passed grandmother made; no yearly swoon of regret over the dropped ceramic Christmas tree you cherished; no mournfulness over a missing loved one.

No dish you would give almost anything to taste one more time and get the exact recipe for.  It was all there, before you, more of it than you could ever eat.

No family picture you wish you'd taken while everyone was there.  They were all there and it seemed they always would be, and it was so loud, you couldn't hear yourself think.

No coveted decoration that has since been lost.  If it was Christmas, the flocked Santa, sleigh, and reindeer were on the hi-fi.  You just assumed your Christmas tree would always look like that, and that certain thing would always be in that certain spot.  These days, there isn't even a hi-fi.  

No song that brings a tear to your eye or a momentary ache to your heart.  All Christmas songs were just songs.  "Blue Christmas" was sung the same way as "Jingle Bells;" "I'll Be Home For Christmas" seemed sort of sappy, but you sang along anyway, hoping something snappy like "Rudolph" was next.  You heard your mother's Christmas albums ad nauseum. 

No sight you would seriously consider giving almost anything to see one more time.  Your eyes were heavy and exhausted by all the brilliant, blissful sights of a Christmassy day.


Ahhh, the Christmas of a child.  So simple.  So simply joyful.  


Don't misunderstand; I love my Christmases these days as a mother, with children of my own.  I longed to sing carols to my own children one day and to see Christmas lights reflected in their eyes.  My dreams have come true, and it is even more than I dreamed it would be.

But. 

As I get older . . .

How my heart also aches for people I miss this season and the joy they brought to my life, for a simple Christmas again when my whole world, my whole past, present, and, seemingly, future, were under the same roof.

And when everything was simple . . . or seemed that way.

Oh, to come into my grandmother's house one more time on Christmas Eve and smell all that wonderful food, hear her Nat King Cole record playing, and see her standing at the stove in her apron and slippers.  The red bow of her apron ties looked just like a Christmas wrapping . . . and, surely, they were . . . for she was one of the most precious gifts of my lifetime.

And I miss her deeply each and every Christmas now . . . and always will.

I guess I've had a visit from The Ghost of Christmas Past as that is where my heart seems to be today . . . with those in my past; how blessed I am to remember them all.

I planned to post today, but my fish died and I'm just heartsick.

That sounds kiddish, doesn't it.

Well, I feel like a kid . . . whose fish died.

Tomorrow is another day.  See you then.

An Encounter With A Scrooge

You'll have to pardon me this morning, I'm still reeling.

Just as an encounter with kindness at the right moment can soothe your spirit, an encounter with cold indifference can scorch your heart.

My son had to quit the school Christmas play this morning because the rehearsal schedule has become too demanding.

Now, as parents, we don't usually condone or allow quitting, but quitting is when you have agreed to do something and then refuse.  My son never agreed to this rehearsal schedule; actually, at no time, has the music teacher revealed the rehearsal schedule more than a day or two in advance.  I believe expecting 9 and 10 year olds to miss 3 recesses and lunch hours a week for rehearsal -- for months on end -- is wildly unreasonable.  Bear in mind, most of these kids, like my son, have 2 lines and then proceed to stand on their mark for the duration of the concert.  While I am sure it will be wonderful, Broadway it is not.  I thought the point of a school play was to kindle, in children, an interest and enthusiasm for the performing arts; to encourage them toward music and participation, not to provide the teacher a stage to live out her career frustrations to the detriment of the children.  

Because these rehearsals deprive my son of any break between his morning and afternoon classes, he is beginning to struggle with his afternoon classes and admits he cannot concentrate after having no break in his day.  (No talking or recreation of any kind is allowed during these rehearsals.)  I spoke with the music teacher yesterday regarding the difficulties my son is having; she informed me that my son was free to quit.  When I asked her how she could so easily replace him if all these rehearsals were so vital, she explained that she had plenty of understudies.  (Talk about delusions of grandeur!)  So cold she was . . . I pity her that.

So after a couple hours of discussion and tears last night, my son decided he would rather return to his school routine than continue with this rehearsal schedule.  All his enthusiasm, all his dedication, all his hard work squandered for a music teacher's confused priorities.  I, myself, am still reeling from watching my son suffer with the realization that either option is a painful one.  He's only 9. 

Your heart never hurts quite like it does when your child hurts.

I just kissed him goodbye this morning, and wished him a good day, knowing his heart was heavy and hurt.

I will get on with my day now, re-inspired in my mission to create a warm, safe, happy home . . . with lots of Christmas cheer.  My little boy will come to a home with Christmas trees shining, stockings hung, and whatever wonderfulness I can accomplish during these hours. 

Wishing you all a joyful day.