|
| Photos
|
|
Staff photo by Gordon Chibroski
 Liam, 7, Mollie, 11, Eugene, 13, and Gracie, 9, are ready for bed after decorating the Fitzpatrick family Christmas tree in their Cumberland home. Click here to see a slide show of more photos of holiday decorating.
(14 images)
Do you have traditions that make your tree decorating special? Send in your photos to be published in an online photo album (include some information on the tradition, your name, contact phone number or e-mail address and hometown in Maine) to photos@mainetoday.com.
To top of story |
|
Maryellen Fitzpatrick, Cumberland
This year started as a different Christmas for our family. My children are
at the age where the existence of Santa could be in jeopardy. No one has
ever questioned if Santa is real. They have stated that friends or
schoolmates have said there is no Santa. My husband and I have always stated
that we believe Santa does exist This year that belief has been confirmed
for us all. Each year my children write to Santa with their list of wishes.
Our daughter Mollie (11) wrote her list but was insistent that she did not
want to share her letter with her siblings Eugene (13), Gracie (9) and Liam
(7) So we placed it in the envelope with the others. Before mailing it off
to the North Pole, my husband and I peeked at the notes. Mollie's letter
demonstrates that Santa does exist at this time of the year, it is the
giving of yourself and having others receive that keeps "Santa" alive. My
husband and I received a gift front Santa. Mollie has the "spirit" that it
is more important to give than receive. It is witnessing the joy of others
that we receive the greatest gift. Mollie confirms "Santa" and the joy of
giving continues. In Mollie, Santa lives on.
Judy Watson Ingram, Parsonsfield
Back in the late 60s, soon after the last of her grandchildren were born, my
mother undertook a Christmas project of making choir angels in the image of
her eight grandchildren--six girls and two boys. Simple supplies were soon
transformed into festive figures: Styrofoam cups were turned up side down
for the angels' bodies, red felt became choir robes, doilies turned into
lace collars and sleeves, and gold foil paper were made to look like
hymnals. Finally, brown and yellow yam was fashioned atop Styrofoam balls to
represent their brown and blonde hair.
At the time of their creation, grandmother's little angels ranged in age
from 10 years old to two, and the size of each angle was determined by their
age. Every Christmas, my mother would display the choir angels in descending
height on the window seat in the living room of my parent's Parsonsfield
home, and each Christmas when the grandchildren came to visit Grandma and
Grandpa Maine (as my parents were called) for the holidays, all would head
straight to that window seat to find his or her angel. Today, grandmother's
little angels are all grownup-- the 10 year old (the tallest) is now in her
mid 40s, and the once six-year-old grandson (one of the shortest) stands six
feet, four inches tall.
In 1994, my father (Grandpa Maine) lost his battle with prostate cancer.
After his midsummer memorial service, the family gathered back at the
Parsonsfield house. For the first time in years, all eight grandkids were
under that same roof at the same time, and Grandma Maine, who would soon be
moving on to a new home of her own, decided that the choir angels should
embark on a similar journey as well. Out came a carefully packaged box and
as Grandma Maine uncovered each angel wrapped in tissue paper, everyone
oohed and aahed that the delicate angels had survived all those years. The
angels helped turn a sad day into one of laughter and joy. Despite being
fully grown adults, each grandchild cradled his or her angel, and began
reminiscing about how wonderful Christmas used to be in Maine. Each
grandchild left Maine a few days later, their choir angels in transit with
them, but before they scattered to homes near and far, I captured this image
of Grandma Maine's adult grandchildren holding their choir angels.
In the back row, left to right: Barbara, Susan, Sharon and Kim (my sister
Dianne's daughters); front row, Leah (my daughter), Stephanie, Michael and
Peter (my brother Steve's children).
Stephanie Schell, Biddeford
The Most Inspirational Christmas Present
The most inspirational Christmas present that I recieved was a copy of the family tree from my aunt in 1996. 1 think that this was very inspirational to me because it detailed my anscestors history back to the 1800s. This Christmas present was very informatative and educational because I learned things about my family that I never knew. One thing that I learned was that they had a lot children back in the 1800s. Another thing that I learned was that most of them died young because of diseases that can be cured now and that a couple of them lived into their 100s. The next thing that I learned was that some of my ancestors went out West, as far as Seattle. The last thing that I learned was one of them married a diplomat and travelled all over the world, while the rest of them remained in Jamestown, N.Y., and were farmers. Most of all, I found this very useful because I used it to write a research report for my Urban Sociology class in the fall of 1997. It paid off, because I got a B in the course, overall. I would have to say this to the copy of the family tree, " Thank you very much for giving me this information, which helped me pass the course." In the future, I will find this useful because I would like to show my children where their ancestors came, their roots, their medical history, and most of all, their pride. I think that if you know your family history, you will feel good about yourself and feel pride in yourself and your family.
Sarah Burr, Appleton
It was December 24, 1999, which as you know, is Christmas Eve. We had just finished our Christmas Eve service that we hold in our living room. Ever since moving to Maine, there were no nearby churches that had a Christmas Eve service. My mom then gave me the assignment of organizing one. We sang carols and read from the Bible and Advent booklet. Ever since then, we've had it every year. The service was done so we started to bring the presents down. Afterwards, I said goodnight, and headed up to bed for a restless night's sleep.
I awoke to hear my dad talking to someone on the phone. I looked at my alarm clock. The red numbers glowed 5:30 a.m. I shook myself awake, thinking it was only my imagination, but it wasn't. My mom walked into my room minutes later, saying that I could open my stocking. My dad came in and told me that Central Maine Power wanted Dad to fly, since he was a helicopter pilot, some power lines because if he didn't, 5,000 people would be without power. He had to leave by 6:00 in order to get to the company helicopter. He wanted to open his stocking. We all walked downstairs.
The Christmas tree was all aglow with the lights we had put on it. It was still dark outside, so the lights from the Christmas tree brightened the room by itself We saw our stockings, stuffed full, sitting on chairs (we don't have a fireplace to hang them from.) I ran to mine and dug inside to see what I got. A cool punch buggy clock, some candy, a notepad, lip gloss, collectable figures, and much more! Before I knew it, I saw my dad getting ready to leave. We hugged him good-bye and sent him off with a "See ya later!"
After he left, I stared at the tree, gawking at the presents underneath. It was tough, knowing that it was Christmas Day, and it was ever so hard to not open the glittering presents. My hands twitched towards a present, tearing the wrapping paper slightly. "Mom! One of my presents is ripped! Can I open it?" I yelled to my mom, who was making herself some tea. She walked into the living room and looked down at me on the floor. She raised her eyebrow, but then nodded her head and sat down in a chair and watched me open it.
I tore the wrapping paper off faster than you could say Christmas! Inside the paper was an I Spy book, which was from my Aunt Joan. I couldn't help myself. I begged my mom for another present. She sighed and gave me one that was labeled, "Dear Sarah, Merry Christmas! -Rudolph." That was from my grandmother, who always wrote from Santa, Mrs. Santa, Rudolph, and all the other reindeer. Inside, after ripping off the holy berry paper, I saw the second and third Harry Potter books.
I suddenly lost interest in the presents in front of me and began to read. The sun slowly rose, giving off more light in the living room. While I read, my mom, who had made herself another cup of tea, came in and turned on the television to see infomercials. My mom flipped through the channels and stopped when some theme song of a show kept yelling, "Histaria!" It was a cartoon, which perked my interest, so I watched it while my mom read the T.V. Guide.
The show turned out to be a historical goof, with an always crying baby, a Canadian Mounted Policemen, kid who did disgusting things, a boy that yelled everything he said, and a whole bunch more wacky characters. Half way through the cartoon, my mom started to watch, and I swear, we've never laughed so hard in our lives. In the cartoon, the characters were doing weird and funny things right after another. Pretty soon, I forgot it was Christmas, because the show had no Christmas theme whatsoever!
Then the phone rang at the end of Histaria. My mom got up and answered it and told me that Dad had called, saying he'd be home in half-an-hour. So, Mom and I got busy making Pillsbury cinnamon buns and cutting up grapefruit. It was 8:30 when I heard Dad's car pull up over the Christmas music and I ran outside to greet him. When I dragged him into the house, Mom had put cinnamon buns and grapefruit out, so we sat down and ate Christmas breakfast. After five minutes, the deliciously tasting cinnamon buns were gone. We herded into the living room for the long awaited time for opening presents with my family.
The End
Erika Johnson, Grade 7, Appleton
Caught One
Magical Christmas Eve, like many others, I couldn't get to sleep. I was too busy wondering what was downstairs in the dining room under the bright Christmas tree aglow packed with lovely ornaments.
For what seemed like hours I laid in bed tossing and turning waiting for morning to come. I finally couldn't take it any longer. I leaped out of my bed and sprinted into my brother, Crosby's room, woke him up, and we sneaked downstairs to the wonderful land of presents.
We grabbed our stockings and I could smell the candy inside. We ran in on the living room couch and dumped our unwrapped gifts all over the place, making sure ours didn't touch because we wanted to end up with the same amount we started with, and not take each others gifts. I felt guilty as I was touching the tic tac box that was stuffed in my stocking. Since I felt so guilty I decided to put everything back. Just then I heard my parents tumbling down the stairs. Probably wondering what was going on. I felt scared that I was going to get in trouble. I could taste the soap I thought they would put in my mouth because I was bad. All that they said was, "We are very disappointed, but it is normal to wonder what Santa has left for you under the tree and in your stockings," So it was all a good lesson learned. The End
Noah Burke, Appleton
We wake up and sneak downstairs, trying not to make a sound. But it seems that the stairs want us to be heard. My little brother goes down first and says in a whisper, "Santa came."
I go down and (playing along with the story of Father Christmas) say, "How does he do it?" "I don't know, it must be his magical powers," Jonas replies.
"Let's get back to bed," I say.
"All right," he says glumly. So we creep up the ships ladder to the musty loft where we sleep when we're at our grandmother's house in Stonington Maine. And for the eighth time in a row my brother and I have fallen asleep at eleven and woken up at midnight and some how, in the meantime, Santa came.
"I can't get to sleep," Jonas whines.
I tell him to try, even though I know that I can't either, so we sit there, up in my grandmother's loft, trying but not trying to go to sleep. Jonas lasts all of five minutes, then gets up and goes down the stairs
"Where are you going?"
"Making sure I know which presents to open first. Wanna come?"
I think that if I don't go Jonas will open the presents, and besides I want to know which present I should open first.
"Oh it's Christmas, what the heck sure I'll come."
I go down the stairs and we start looking at the presents taking guesses what each one will be. "Hey Jonas look at this one, it's for you."
Jonas is rummaging in the presents under the tree. His head peeks out from the pile. "Where?"
I know he expects a huge present. I pull out a small box and pretend to peek under the wrapping. I try to keep my voice even. "Looks like a Barbie Doll with a pretty pink dress."
"No way ... let me see," he jumps at me, trying to wrestle away the package. "Now Jonas don't you want everyone to watch you open it."
My grandmother hears us thumping around. She sneaks down the stairs softly.
"What are you boys up to?"
"Nothing Gaga," we say.
She puts the kettle on and I start a fire.
Jonas says quietly, "Can we open our stockings? Please."
Gaga looks up. " I thought you would never ask."
We run over to the fireplace grab our stockings and reach down in them. We pull out chocolate coins, Pokemon cards, miniature flashlights, lottery tickets, candy canes and other trinkets. The water whistles and gaga asks if we want hot chocolate. Then we sit on the coach, our backs to the fire, drinking hot chocolate. The fire crackles. I plug in the Christmas tree lights: the lights dim then flash on, lighting up the whole room. The tinsel and colored glass balls shine and glimmer. The angels and nutcrackers come alive. The star on the top shines over us. And I think my grandmother's living room feels only like one other thing in the world. It feels, it feels like Christmas.
Fiona Hunter Appleton
December 30, five days after Christmas, is my birthday. It may seem strange to have one holiday, and then your birthday right after it, but it isn't really a big deal to me and my family. I don't get any more Christmas presents, or any less birthday gifts. It's just like having a birthday on any other day of the year.
Last year on my birthday, my parents rushed me downstairs as soon as I woke up and thrust an oddly shaped gift into my hands. Still half asleep, I tumbled with the wrapping paper. When it finally slid off, I was confused. I was looking at a bag of cat food and a pink food dish.
Then I spotted a large piece of paper at the bottom of the box. I picked it up and read," Gift Certificate. Good for two free kittens."
I was so surprised, I was speechless. Our cat Sonsee died that November of kidney failure and, as my parents later said, "There was a cat void that needed to be filled."
My parents explained to me that they knew how much I wanted a cat. They had originally decided to get one cat from an animal shelter, then my mom's friend Dana had told her that one of her cats, Bubba, had just had a litter of three kittens, so my mom and dad thought I could pick out two to keep.
Later that morning I called Dana to find out more about the kittens. She said there were two girls, one grey and white, and one tortoise-shell, and one boy, also gray and white. We decided to go down to her house that Sunday.
Sunday came, and we drove down to Dana's house. My mother and I took one look at the kittens and begged my father to let us get all three. After some persuading, he finally agreed, and we left with three brand new kittens.
On the ride home, I asked if I could take one of the kittens out of the cat carrier because they were mewing loudly. My parents said yes, and I took out the tortoise-shell girl, which I then named Gemmy. The white and grey girl was first named Yoko, then became Pearlie. The boy, who was huge even when he was a baby, was first called Bruiser, then that evolved into Slim Shady, then Bijou (my mom's choice). Finally, we settled on Mr. Bigglesworth, although at first my mom objected.
Now that they're a year old and have turned into healthy, friendly young adult cats, you can see that the kittens really were a wonderful late Christmas gift.
Brittany Calnan, New Country School, West Baldwin
I Want To See Santa
My plan to see Santa was to throw carrots out my bedroom window, so that I could hear the reindeer nibbling on the carrots. I thought I would wake up to the sound of nibbling reindeer, but I fell fast to sleep and never woke up that night. I was to tired on Christmas Eve of 2000 to catch a glimpse of Santa. I will have to try to catch a glimpse of Santa this year.
Gabriel Orff, New Country School, West Baldwin
My Endeavors To See Santa Claus and if possible, get him on tape. The C.I.A
Endeavor 'Twas the night before Christmas, 5:00 P.M. in the night. I searched through the phonebook, the C.I.A. was not in sight. I got me a plan to see that Ol' Santa. I'd get me a black suit and some mini cameras too. I'd catch that old Santa, once and for all. He wouldn't escape, but alas no C.I.A. My plan was deteriorating faster than a sugar crystal in water! I searched and I searched, but the C.I.A was not to be found. I searched till 8:00 in the night and then dejected, rejected, and all worn out . I went off to bed and at least I got presents.
THE END bow bow bow thank you very much
James Gammon, New Country School, West Baldwin
Christmas story '2/7/0'
Twas the night before Christmas, '':00 in the morning. James Gammon was born, none were in mourning. The stockings were hung while no one was there, in hopes that young James would soon be there.
The parents were nestled all snug in their bed, with visions of James flashing in their head. When Mom woke up feeling a pain, she knew it was time to visit DR. McBane.
Dad sprang from his bed, got the keys, and hopped in the car. He seemed very pleased. When all of a sudden out came young James. He was okay: two legs and arms, ten fingers and toes.
Dad sprang to his feet when he heard the good news. He was so happy, he didn't have to fret. His son was okay. Dad was crying with glee. Twas the best Christmas he ever could have. His son was just born, early in the morn.
Ilana Rosen-Ducat, New Country School, West Baldwin
A Chanukah Latke Story
My most favorite night of Chanukah was when a friend came over for a latke party. We has a lot of fun! After dinner we played a guessing game using the Menorah about when the first and last candle went out. While we were waiting we played a Scooby-Doo game. It was lots of fun.
I will never forget that Chanukah night because i had so much fun with my friend.
Marcela Wilk, New Country School, West Baldwin
The Harry Potter Christmas
My favorite holiday gift is book one, two, and three of harry Potter. It was Christmas Eve and my mom had just finished reading "The Polar Express" by Chris von Allsburg. Then I went to bed. There was a lot I anted for Christmas but I never was expecting a Harry Potter book.
The nex morning I woke up and went to my brothers room. We talked for a half an hour then woke my parents up and went downstairs to the Christmas tree. We opened a lot of presents. Then I saw a big lumpy present, it was for me. So I said I was going to open that one next. I opened it and three books fell lightly on the rug. The books were the first three in Harry Potter! I was excited because my brother Taylor had read them, he said he would read them to me. Later, Taylor began to read them to me.
That is a Christmas I will never forget because my brother Taylor read the three best books in the world to me.
Pam Kinner, Old Orchard Beach
Among my special Christmas memories, there will always be the remembrance of anticipating the annual Santa story in my hometown newspaper. Each year, in conjunction with the newspaper's daily herald of "only __ shopping days 'til Christmas!" which appeared at the very top of the paper, which to a child of 8 or 9 meant that was a very special proclamation.
The Santa story was a different one each year, as I recall. The story was laid out a little bit each night, in serial format. I could hardly wait to read each one! I grew up an only child, in the Connecticut suburbs in the 1960's and had no real idea of city life or how it was in the "old days". Those stories pulled me into the Victorian days of old, when a beloved Christmas present meant a new rag doll or a broom stick pony.
Nothing meant Christmas and Santa to me as much as these stories.
There is also a Christmas song which I hear only now and then since I moved to Maine 18 years ago. "The Marvelous Toy" by Peter Paul and Mary was written in 1968 and I have the same sense of wonder and nostalgia whenever I hear it, as I did when I was 9 years old. Of course, I know all the words and the sound effects! Whenever I think of the song, I remember trimming my little green Christmas tree in my bedroom and thinking about what I would make in school for mom and dad for presents.
Mom and Dad always made sure that Santa made his annual phone call to our house too. In those days, you could call 9-1-1 and that would connect one extension phone to another in your house. I admit I was pretty naive in those days, as I truly believed Santa was calling me! I did wonder why Santa didn't write me a letter like he did other kids. I didn't realize that my folks were being extra special to me by making the personal call. I think it was my Mom who played Santa. My bubble was burst, however, one Easter when I was about 11 or 12, when I got a call from the Easter Bunny -- "that's funny", I said, "The Easter Bunny sounds just like Santa Claus!!" Uh-oh Santa, gig's up!
Bonnie Jo Dreckmann, Sanford
Christmas 1986
We were moving to Sanford, Maine in 1987, so this last Christmas we spent in our Farmingville, New York home was a bitter-sweet experience for us. Our four grown children were scattered in New York, Massachusetts and New Hampshire; only Joseph, age 7, was living with us. We expected to celebrate a quiet Christmas with just the three of us. Yet late Christmas Eve, one by one, the children began returning home and going to their old rooms to sleep. First Debbie and her husband, Mike, arrived from Massachusetts and settled down to sleep on the sofa bed. Then Billy came from New Hampshire and slipped into his old bedroom, followed by Barbara, who had driven 10 hours from Avoca, NY. When we retired for the night, only our youngest daughter, Donna, was missing.
Early in the morning, Donna quietly crept upstairs and went to sleep in her childhood bedroom with Barbara. When we woke up, SURPRISE!! All our family was once more together, ready to celebrate our very last Christmas in the home where we'd spent 21 years.
We started a fire in the fire place and began our traditional gift exchange. Laughter was mingled with tears, as memories of former Christmas mornings flooded back to us. The children were all grown now, and only Joseph still believed in Santa Claus. However, our happiness just overflowed when Debbie and Mike gave us their "gift": they told us we were to become grandparents in August! At that announcement, cheers broke out, for not only was this baby to be our first grandchild, it would also be the first niece or nephew of each of the children. And best of all, Joseph, at age 7, would become an uncle!
We were truly a happy, excited family that Christmas morning. We were blessed. We had gathered together to close a chapter in our lives, only to discover that a new one had already begun. A new life was being added to our family circle, and great joy filled our hearts. We looked forward to welcoming the baby with love and anticipation. Yes, 1987 would really be a year of new beginnings for all of us.
Deb Sylvester, Yarmouth
One Christmas memory helps me remember the beauty and spirit of giving and receiving like no other. In 1988, my son Ryan was 7 and my daughter Caitlin was 5. We had plans to go to a family party on Christmas Day. On Christmas Eve, Ryan and Caitlin decided to make girfts for their aunts and uncle. They ran downstairs to the basement excitedly.Later, when I went to check on them, I found they were already "wrapping" their gifts in boxes by themselves. They had chosen an old Coke bottle for Aunt Nancy and a book from the dump about ships for Uncle Bill (they said it was because they both like old things.)They had also boxed up a Cookie Monster puppet for 3-year-old cousin Louise and a very large, imperfect shell collected from a Cape Cod beach for Aunt Patty(our family is originally from Cape Cod).Ryan, a beginning writer, had used phonetic spelling to write their names on the boxes.
At the party the next day, I wondered what the reactions to the gifts would be. Nancy opened her Coke bottle, Bill his ship book and Nancy exclaimed,"these are the best gifts ever!" She even kept the box because of the original spelling.
Then Patty opened her big box that contained the shell. She jumped up and said, "I have just the place for this!" She reverently placed it on a windowsill beside a book about Cape Cod. Ryan was thrilled that she loved the gift so much. The families' sincere appreciation for the simple gifts the children gave meant so much to us.
Ann Marie Scott, Biddeford
It was 1955. I was eight years old and thought I had Christmas figured out. Mom and Dad did it all, the kitchen table was Santa's Workshop from 10:00 PM Christmas Eve until the early hours of Christmas Day, and Santa was just pretend. It was our family tradition to wait until Christmas Eve to decorate the tree. Dad put it up and strung the lights. My five brothers and I put on the colored ornaments and hung the icicles under Mom's guidance. It was topped off with a lighted angel. We were usually hustled off to bed early so the real work could begin.
This year was a little different. After the tree was done we got dressed up and went to a party at the house of some friends, who lived way on the other side of town. We had a good time and returned home around 10:00 (Santa's usual starting time). To our great surprise and amazement the tree was all lit up and all the wrapped presents and gifts were under it. It just didn't make sense. Mom and Dad had been with us the whole time, no sneaky disappearances, no hushed wispers in a corner while slipping someone a key. We were baffled.
The younger boys, who really believed in Santa, were thrilled. We older, more worldly kids, were skeptical. "Who did this?" "Santa!", said my parents. "Was it the Robert's, across the street?" "No, Santa must have come early", replied my parents. We accused everyone we could think of, and Mom and Dad (who never lied!), denied everything. They just laughed and smiled, thoroughly enjoying themselves.
We older kids finally joined the younger ones and begged to open everything that night instead of waiting for morning. That electric excitement of seeing the tree and gifts was more than we could suppress that night. So we had Christmas that Christmas Eve. It was probably our best Christmas ever.
I never did find out how they did it. I remember asking Dad about it once when I was a young adult. He smiled and told me it was Santa. He and Mom are gone now, but Christmas comes every year. So I guess they were right. Santa came to our house in 1955 and will come again this year.
Beth Patterson Quinlan
Christmas 1979
I spent my junior year of college at the University of St. Andrews in Scotland. During the Christmas break, I traveled with two friends through five European countries. Christmas of 1979 was my first Christmas away from home. This is the letter I wrote to my parents and brother about that very special Christmas.
Christmas Day
Dear Mom, Dad and David,
Last night, Betsy, Sally and I went to the Dom Cathedral here in Salzburg. It was a Catholic service in German and although the music was beautiful, it meant little. When we woke this morning things were pretty desolate. We were all trying to be cheery but there wasnÕt too much to be cheery about. After our hotel breakfast of four slices of bread and butter, we returned to the room to open our gifts. It was nice to have something to open. The stockings will be useful and the pen, of course, is great. The Doonesbury book was great because it gave me something to do. Everyone has read it (i.e. Sally and Betsy). After that we listened to an American servicemenÕs radio station, which played American Christmas carols. It was a tribute to old radio so it had come clips from old shows like Fiber Magee and Molly. It just didnÕt seem like Christmas.
After lunch, the best thing to do seemed to be to sleep, which we did for a couple of hours. Time dragged for a couple of hours, and we had dinner. Betsy and Sally were planning calls home at about 7:00, so at 6:30 we headed for the post office. Upon arrival, we learned that it would be a three-hour wait. We hadnÕt brought our books or anything, and we had to stay at the p.o. I considered placing a call but decided that it would be too expensive and too emotional. I was, however, feeling rather low at having no contact with you, although I had been thinking about you all and Redeemer all the time.
Betsy and I went downstairs and bought a three-day-old International Tribune. We split it into three sections. I spent an hour reading about the hostages, Dusty the Kangaroo (who is promoting a cleaner Britain for the 80Õs) and the New York Stock Exchange. Then, Sally finished with the section that had the front and back pages. I started to read a couple of articles on the front page but was feeling depressed and disinterested. I turned to the classified on the back page and there I saw your message. You donÕt know what it meant to see it there. I promised myself I wouldnÕt cry and now I canÕt stop. I was sad Š very sad - not to be home for Christmas but the tears only came at the joy of seeing the message, which I thought to look for but never thought IÕd see. I had been hoping for a Christmas surprise and had almost given up. I had decided there would be no Christmas this year, but I was wrong. I had realized that Christmas comes from within but with no visible contact with home I was having a lot of trouble finding the spirit of it.
Thank you for my special Christmas message. I am anxious for next Christmas when I can better appreciate what being home at Christmas means.
Love, Beth
Since I was staying in youth hostels and pensions without a planned itinerary, my parents had no way to reach me. I had told them to place an ad in the Tribune if there were an emergency. As it turned out, this was the first issue I had seen on my trip. When my father called to place the ad, he was told heÕd called to late and there was no way they would be able to run the ad prior to Christmas, which just added to the mystery of the whole experience.
Peggy R. Cyr
When I was still very young, my parents still got a real Christmas tree for Christmas. That tradition faded long ago and was replaced with an artificial tree with the colored markings on the end of the green wires that helped to build the tree. My parents like to remind of the time when I was around 4, my father came home on a cold, December night with a tree strapped to the car roof and I staring out the window said..."Mom!, Dad has a big flower!!!"
Deirdre R.
No matter how much I pray to the sinus gods, I always seem to be sick on Christmas day. For the past five years I have battled with sinus infections, upset stomachs and migraines on this particular day, and not just from the stress. Its like my immune system takes a vacation from work the same time I do, which causes some problems.
It was on a particular Christmas Eve two years ago when I felt a little queasy before bed. I knew that the next day was going to be trouble. Of course, being teased by my husband about faking illness to get out of seeing my in-laws didn't help, so I ignored my grumbling gut.
Around the time when we were hurriedly sticking tape to freshly wrapped presents and putting Band-Aids on bleeding paper cuts, my nose began running. Wiping my nose on a stray piece of tissue paper, I realized that this was the year all the relatives would come to my house Christmas day, and I forgot to make my traditional blueberry pie.
The next morning I woke up at five thirty in the morning to make that
one pie. My nose was streaming and I had a sore throat, the beginning of my Christmas curse, despite my praying to the Immunity gods the night before. I could hear the kids whispering in Katie's, my oldest daughters, room. There is a rule I made for the kids that they are not allowed to get up before six because the parents want to sleep as long as possible. Because of this rule,
which now seemed pointless to me, I had to creep downstairs silently, or a silently as my worn slippers would take me.
I finally finished the pie an hour later, bringing it forth from the oven in a steamy wave of blueberry bliss which only made me nauseous. Carefully, I set it on the pie plate and covered it. Returning to the living room, which was decked in Christmas attire for the occasion, I sat down on the love seat next to my husband, who looked like a raccoon because of the circles under his eyes.
"What took you so long, Mommy?" my six year old son David asked me, his mouth full of candy from his stocking. He would never understand how hard it was to drag yourself up from bed to make a pie, at least not yet anyways.
So I just smiled and told him to save room for breakfast. At that moment I began a coughing fit while my family waited patiently for me to finish hacking away before we went to eat a breakfast of pancakes and bacon.
Four hours later, all of our immediate family was sitting around the Christmas tree while I was feeling clausterphobic squished between a huge pile of wrapping paper and my older brother Jim. I had received numerous gifts, including a new pair of bedroom slippers which were much better suited for sneaking downstairs Christmas morning to make a pie.
"Sick again?" Jim asked. I coughed into my cup of coffee before answering,
"Yes, Jim." "You look it. It's your curse, isn't it?" "I feel awful!" I said.
Jim then brought a small package out from behind the couch and handed it to me. Unwrapping the golden snowflakes and angels, I revealed a big bottle of cough syrup. I laughed, and Jim gave me a big bear hug. With a wink and a smile, Jim said, "I thought you'd be needing both of those today, Dee."
Hannah Yardley, Yarmouth
Christmas Honey Bees
This may seem strange to a stranger or someone who isn't in our family, but my parents and my Aunt Jane and Uncle John have a tradition of giving "bee" gifts to one another for Christmas. Yes, you read it correctly, "bee" gifts.
My Uncle John is a very hard person to get gifts for. So my Mom and dad got him Hibernating Honey Bees for laughs. What you do with the Hibernating Honey Bees is you put them in your refrigerator until spring, then you take them out and they pollinate your garden. My Uncle John and Aunt Jane did just that.
One day when Jane was out playing golf with her lady friends, there was a huge swarm of bees coming up the golf course. The bees followed Jane around the golf course for quite some time. The bees must have been John and her Hibernating Honey Bees! Eventually the bees swarmed off and Jane told my parents. That is how our bee tradition started.
Every Christmas my parents can expect some kind of bee gift from Jane and John. For instance we gave Jane and John a C.D. called Whose Honey are You? and we wrote bee limericks for them. Jane and John got us combs and bee socks. We are going to keep this Christmas tradition for as long as we live!
Carol Meerschaert, Falmouth, ME
Dec. 10, 2001
My kids and I decorated the Christmas tree yesterday. It is filled with ornaments, each holding a special memory. My grandparents, who had 45 grandchildren were never was able to afford gifts for us, but one year set up a tree and gave each of us a Christmas ornament. That ornament is dear to me.
Each year since my parents have done the same for their children and grandchildren. Yesterday we decorated the tree with ornaments dated from the early 70s. Since each of my kids have received a yearly ornament, they will have a treeful by the time they are old enough to move out and have their own tree. They look forward to seeing what each year's ornament will be.
We also have the ornaments the kids made in preschool, stockings I made for the kids, snowmen they made with my sister-in-law, the cr¸che to remind us what Christmas really represents, but the yearly ornaments are the center of our decorations.
Cheryl Oakes, Wells
I am a computer teacher and usually my students may holiday cards for their families. This year we are making either holiday cards or peace cards to the world. I am posting all 400+ cards on our school Web site (http://169.244.127.196/2002/peacecard/peacetotheworld.htm)for all to see. SO, I am "decorating" a little differently this year. I am giving our students a chance to express their "holiday" feelings and their change in feelings since Sept. 11, 2001.
Sara Vicenzi
A Christmas Memory
Ever have that childhood moment when you'd swear that you had witnessed the tooth fairy steal a tooth from your pillow, or see the Easter bunny hop through the front lawn? With me, it was seeing Santa on his sleigh as raindeer pulled him across the sky.
It was the day before Christmas, the day that puts more children in anticipation and agony than any other. Gifts under the tree were a constant reminder of time left, and made it all the more unbearable. Older toys now seemed non-existent, as if there was nothing to do but to open the presents that lay taunting us.
Most of the day had already passed, and it seemed the more it went on, the more excitement grew within me. By mass that night, the church was filled with anxious children in the choir, trying to control themselves at the adult's request. Before we knew it, we found ourselves in front of the parish, siting in our impressive outfits while we listened to the annual telling of Christmas from the priest. I sat there surrounded by my friends looking around room. Large wreaths and velvety ribbons hung from the walls and ceilings. As I came to the front of the church, I arrived at my favorite part, the round enchanting window that sits above the entrance. And as I sat looking through the pattern glass, a shadow appeared against the moon. The long shape, my imagination tells me was Santa. The kind man, who sits in his sled with gifts to the boys and girls, had flown over my church that night.
Nicole Evers, seventh grade, Yarmouth
The top spun faster and faster. Grandpa held it in his hand again and spun it out of his hand. "Show me Grandpa! Please!" He let go of the top and we watched it spin around one spot on the floor.
"I don't get it. How do you do it?" Grandpa was very old and tall he had bony arms and was very skinny. His favorite thing to do when he was a young child was to play with tops. Instead of nintendos and computer games there were tops and marbles.
"Every day we played tops after school. I always won and sometimes we betted on the tops." I could see old memories of his childhood were flying through his head. Grandpa spun the top faster and faster every time.
The stockings were hang from the fireplace and the Christmas tree sparkled with the lights. Family sat around the table it was Christmas Eve. Everyone was getting very excited for Christmas time. This was the first time in a while that we had all got together.
Grandpa and I still fiddled around with the tops. Grandpa's top w as special he had had it since he was a young boy. He had won lots of games with it. As he gave me top lessons downstairs he told me stories of his childhood with tops. I still didn't have the motion. "No, No Nicole that's not how you do it. Use your wrist!"
"I can't Grandpa. I don't know how to do it!" I wrapped the string around the top again and released it from my hand. The top hit the ground like a raindrop hitting the ground. The top spun a little and slowed down to a stop. Grandpa's kept going faster it was like magic. It kept going like a bunny. "Hurry up Dad and Nicole. Dinner's ready!" My mother yelled.
"Darn we'll have to finish after dinner." Grandpa said in a sigh. "I'm sorry Nicole but I won't be able to get you or your sister any presents. We're getting too old to go shopping. I don't know what you guys like anyway."
"That's okay Grandpa. I don't care. At least your here." I said as I hugged him. The family was close together around the table. Dinner was chicken with broccoli and rice. E veryone ate slowly accept for me and Grandpa. We wanted to hurry so we could go downstairs and practice some more of our tops. When we were done we rushed downstairs. Grandpa got there before me. The sound of the top hitting the ground ran through my ear. I saw Grandpa laughing at how good he could still do it. For a brief moment I could see him as a child again. The transformation happened quickly though and I saw him as his true form again. I stepped down from the last step.
"Hi Grandpa! So what do you have to show me?" He wrapped the string around the top and shook it in his hand and then released it so gently. It slowly fell in the air and hit the ground perfectly. The top spun immediately drawing a circle shape. The top had eyes that watched me carefully. I stared back at it carefully and Grandpa stared at me.
"It's never stayed this long before. Not even when I was a child." The top kept its eye on us and started to go slower and landed on its side. I looked up to my Grandpa.
"I got it!" Next year you can send me a top for Christmas if you have any extra ones. But if you can't that's fine too. Don't worry about it."
"I'll do what I can. I don't have any really good tops besides my special one that I've had since a child."
I flicked the top off my hand onto the ground. It hit the ground and spun for a couple of seconds and stopped. Nothing compared to Grandpa's top spinning. I wanted to impress him but I could never do any better than him. Every one was still asleep. It was Christmas and every one was very tired. I struggled downstairs to get the top rotating. I flicked it off my palm again but nothing happened. I gave up and sat on the ground pouting. Grandpa must have heard me for when I sat down and was sad he came downstairs.
"It doesn't matter, Nicole you'll get it. You have all the techniques you just need to put them together, Now lets go upstairs with the family and open some presents."
"Okay, lets go!" I smiled back at him. We ran together upstairs to meet the family waiting for us. "Nicole you go first. Here's a present from Grandpa."
"Grandpa," I repeated. "I thought there was going to be no presents from you this year."
"Just open! See what it is!" I ripped it open. What could it be? I thought. I got to the present-it was hard. I saw the front of it. It was a top! The one he had when he was just a little child! He gave it to me! But it was so special to him!
"Oh, Grandpa thank you, thank you! Are you really letting me keep it?"
"Of course, I want you to get better at your top skills." I ran to hug him. It was the best present. I couldn't believe he had given it to me.
After presents were done. I rolled the top off my hand downstairs. Everyone watched to see how it was done. I wished for it to work. The top spun off the palm of my hand and stroke the ground fast. It started to spin, it got slower but then started up again. It was the longest I had ever done it! Grandpa was very happy and hugged me tight. As I let go of the top!
Susan M. Jensen
The Christmas Quilt
The Christmas when I was 14 years old, I discovered that Santa didn't always dress in a red suit with a white beard. Sometimes Santa wore a blue housedress with elastic stockings.
When I was a young girl, Santa always made his initial secret appearance at our house before we ventured off to my grandmother's house in Buffalo, New York. There he would arrive in person the following night, Christmas Eve. I would stand at the window in breathless anticipation with my cousins as we watched him ring doorbells at other houses on the street, red sack on his back and elves in tow. When he finally arrived at 64 Goemble my heart raced, hoping there was something in the bag for me. Of course, there were gifts for all of us and we were delighted to have him up close and personal.
As we got older, Nana moved from Goemble to a small flat, hardly large enough to hold the whole brood. Nana missed those Christmases and decided one year to reinstate Santa Claus on a different level. As a quilt maker, she had been busily sewing for years in preparation for this big event. Nana felt that she may not be alive to witness the weddings of all of her grandchildren, so she came up with a brilliant plan. She would create enough quilts so that each of us could choose one in advance, which would some day be our wedding gift from her. We would hold this grand event at Aunt Pat and Uncle Ted's house, the perfect central location.
We arrived at my aunt and uncle's house through the back door, as the front door was inaccessible. The kitchen table was laden with tantalizing Christmas treats and my aunt and uncle were bustling about filling drink orders. I searched the room for my grandmother and Uncle Ted nodded his head in the direction of the living room. I grabbed a piece of chocolate sponge candy, my favorite, and squeezed my way through the growing crowd. As I reached my destination I paused and let out a gasp. The living room was a sea of quilts. They covered the floor, the sofa, and the chairs. It was a rainbow room of color and pattern and design. Many I recognized from Nana's visits to our house, as her hands were never idle. There at the far end of the room she stood in her royal blue dress unfolding the last of her creations.
"Oh, Nana" was all that I could say.
"What do you think, Susie?" she beamed.
"I think that you are amazing," I replied, "They are all so beautiful."
She flashed me a smile and handed me one end of the quilt to spread over the edge of the sofa. It was a cherry quilt, the plump red fruit and deep green leaves incredibly rich against the pristine white background. She worked on the cherries at our house when I was 8 years old and taught me to appliquˇ on some of the stems.
"This is so beautiful, Nana," I would say.
She responded "Oh, but Susie, Auntie Martha did many of the cherries, I can't take all of the credit." "And I would never make another," she continued, "It was a lot of work."
I knew that more than anything, I wanted this to be my quilt. The living room began to fill with my cousins and I scanned their faces, trying to get a clue as to their favorite. I dared not look at the cherries in fear that I would reveal my desire and have any attention brought to the magnificence of the quilt. That's not to say that the other quilts weren't wonderful, because they were. Each was a different color and pattern. Most all her hand appliquˇd and quilted in detail. But I had a personal investment in the cherries and I intended to keep that a secret.
The selection process was a lottery in which the first born in each family would be the first to choose, followed by subsequent siblings.
My grandmother gave us our numbers and my heart sank as my number was announced. Six. The halfway mark. Would it still be there? Who was before me? Two of my cousins were looking over a star quilt, and my brother, Greg, was handling a blue Dresden plate. So far, so good. Maybe it would make it to my turn.
"Think positive," I told myself.
"I think that we are ready," Nana announced, "This is the arrangement; when your name is called, you will make your selection, and if you ever see me working on something that you like better, you can always exchange it for your original selection. The first one up today is Greg."
My heart was beating frantically in anticipation of what would transpire when my cousins made their selection. I watched him venture, quite predictably to the blue Dresden quilt. He paused for an instant, and then stepped over it to reach for the quilt along side it. I stared in disbelief, as he lifted the cherry quilt from the edge of the sofa and carried it back with him to his place against the living room wall. My fearful anticipation turned to outrage. Betrayed by my own brother- how could he do such a thing? He never showed a bit of interest in that quilt- why did it even matter to him?
My eyes burned as I tried to hold back the tears. I was vaguely aware of the voices in the background and the selection process continued. I glared at my brother. I wanted desperately for him to look in my direction so he could see the fury in my eyes. But he ignored me. As I continued to watch him, I realized that he wasn't absorbed in the recent quilt requisition by my cousin. His eyes were locked on Nana.
And Nana was returning the glance, with a smile across her lips. In this silent exchange, I had a revelation which hit me like a thunderbolt. He had not chosen the cherry quilt for himself; he had taken destiny into his own hands and taken it out of the running for me, his sister. My heart melted as Nana's gazed turned to me. My eyes filled with tears as her smile grew. The nod of her head was all I needed to know that my suspicions were true.
My elation soon turned to panic- now what do I do? I was so consumed in my own self pity that I really hadn't considered what my options would be when my name was chosen. I had to find the perfect quilt for him; I frantically scanned the current selection, searching for the blue Dresden plate, the perfect choice. It was gone.
My grandmother, sensing my current dilemma, moved beside me and whispered, "It doesn't matter which one you choose, Susie. It will be the right one."
My name was called and after a brief moment I reached for another Dresden plate, in pale shades of yellow. I claimed my prize and gingerly stepped around the other quilts as I made my way back to the line of participants. I took my place this time next to my brother who looked down upon me with a big grin. And I, embarrassed by my wrongful silent accusations, could only return the same and whisper "Thank you".
True to her word, Nana began another Dresden plate quilt in the New Year in shades of blue that my brother had chosen. He quietly made the swap later that summer; however, Nana passed the yellow one on to my parents. She felt that it belonged with our family.
This year we celebrated our 20th wedding anniversary. My grandmother has since passed on and my brother, quite tragically has now joined her. Inspired by Nana's skilled handiwork and love of sewing I have become a quilt maker. While I am not as prolific as she was, I have a profound appreciation for the labor of love which my grandmother bestowed upon us that Christmas. Every night when I crawl under my cherry quilt I am reminded of that special day. I realized that the true gift was more than fabric and thread; it was the generosity of a brother who put the interests of his sister before his own.
That gift will last a lifetime.
To top of page
|
