Christmas

Well, here we are; Christmas time again! This will be my 70th, and I am sitting here remembering some of the more memorible ones. As a young girl growing up, the year that I turned twelve, my mother was pregnant with my youngest sister (of six siblings) and that Christmas eve, I can still see my mother sitting with her coat and hat on, in our hallway, small suitcase next to her, watching us open our Christmas presents before she went off to the hospital to deliver Christine Helen. That year I received a shinny new black three-speed bike that my dad brought up from the basement, and I thought that was the best Christmas present I had ever received. And it was not until I realized in years to come that the real Christmas present that year was my wonderful sister Chris who continues to be a blessing in all our lives today. That too was the only Christmas that the Conlan kids were allowed to open their gifts on Christmas eve.
As a child growing up, the tradition in our house was to go to bed early and listen for Santa's sleigh bells which one of my parents rang sometime in the night for us to hear. This happened after we had put out cookies, milk for Santa, and carrots for Santa's raindeer. Christmas morning, each of us (seven) took our place on the steps going downstairs according to age, the youngest first, and waited, and waited, and waited for everyone to get up, especially Mom and Dad. Then, as we decended the stairs together, we all sand Jingle Bells. This was our tradition, and I remember it with great fondness. Usually, under the tree, there was one big gift for each of us, and I remember the year that we all got ice skates.
When we moved to Colorado, our family created our own traditions, one of them being to gather with our neighbors on Christmas eve to put together things for our children. One year, we had the biggest snow storm ever on Christmas morning and I remember neighbors up and down the street on skies, sleds, and snow shoes going from porch to porch where Christmas goodies were being offered and served. We had lots of snow, but also that fabulous Colorado sunshine.
What really strikes me about Christmas as I get a little older is that all my favorite memories around Christmas involve the people I most love and cherish. One year I flew home from Colorado and surprised my mom and dad, wearing a big red bow in my hair. This was the Christmas before my dad died, and I am so glad I had that special time with him. Another year, our family flew to New Orleans to be with my sister and her family, each of us wearing a T-Shirt on the plane that, when standing together, spelled "Merry Christmas Meltons, HoHoHo." Everyone on the plane loved it, and we loved being in New Orleans that holiday. This Christmas we will be with our small, but mighty family of seven, and will delight, as we have in past years, watching the "grands," Sara (6) and Ben (3) open their Christmas toys. Ah the delight, the wonder, the belief that "Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus." And, if you have not read that book recently, I suggest that when you do, you will, once again, believe in "Santa Claus."