Searching for Christmas. Day 10.

~ yellowlamplight ~ Leave a comment

In the parking lot was an older gentleman with three bouquets of flowers. He was waiting patiently for a woman dressed in fancy Christmas attire except for a pair of light blue house shoes. We followed them in and joined the rest of the crowd waiting for the doors to open. We were a mixed bag of church clothes and ugly sweaters. Slacks and jeans. People were greeting each other and talking about how hard the cast had worked to get ready. Lots of smiles and hugs. I took my grandson over to the drink cart and the lady made him a coke and gave it to him wrapped in a thick white napkin. He thanked her in his serious, I wanna get this right, voice. Finally, a lady wearing a Christmas headband found our name on the list and led us up two stairs and down a long ramp to our seats. My grandson was handsome in his Christmas sweater and my husband was unusually festive in his Santa hat. He grows his beard out every year at this time so he fits the part. I tried to take a picture, but silliness ensued and I ended up with two pictures of my grandson’s tonsils. We sat in the crowd of people waiting for the production to start. I eavesdropped on several conversations around me and made polite conversation with the older woman next to me. She instantly wanted to know if I was a local. Where I lived. Who I belonged to. I explained that we were visitors. This immediately made me more interesting and slightly less so. We finished up our polite chatter and she turned back to all of the familiar faces surrounding her. These were people that knew each other. The children in the cast were discussed and catalogued by who their parents were and when those parents graduated. I smiled as I listened to them all talk. I belonged to a little town just like this. I just wasn’t there. No matter. I was ready for the next two hours of speeches from the director and presents given to community sponsors. I was ready for the six little girls dressed in glitter that danced to Run Rudolph Run. I was ready for the corny jokes and the bad acting. I was ready for the look of sweet awe when the “real” Santa Claus snuck into the audience as beautiful music played and handed out old fashioned peppermints. Right from his velvet gloves into my grandson’s cupped hands. I was ready to sing along with the audience and to laugh hysterically when one of the actors had wrapping paper stuck on his shoe when he came on stage. Heck, I was even ready to wait an extra long time for the next act to start when we heard a crash behind the curtain and it was obvious something had tipped over or malfunctioned. And, I was so ready to hold my grandson’s hand as we walked back to our car. He was singing Jingle Bells and when I asked him what his favorite part was he answered, “My favorite was all of it.” Me too kiddo. Me too. If you see a sign advertising a local production this season go see it. If there’s a line to donate a little extra to the local theatre program do that too. Buy their cookies and programs and whatever else they’re selling. Because what they are really selling is community. Connection. Christmas spirit. All the lovely things about small towns this time of year.

Searching for Christmas. Day 9.

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Every year I choose a book for my daughter to read on Christmas Eve. This tradition started because my parents, being sane, allowed us to open all of our family gifts on Christmas Eve and only Santa gifts were opened Christmas morning. My husband’s family did not practice this reasonable tradition. They were of the opinion that the tree should stay bare until Christmas morning. Only then would all manner of presents appear. This made no sense to me when I married into the family and still does not to this very day. However, I am an occasionally wise woman who knows which hills are worth dying on. That one was not. If you ever spend a Christmas morning with my husband and see how his eyes light up when he sees the tree loaded down on Christmas morning you will agree that I chose wisely. So, we settled into the tradition of Christmas pjs, a book and a box of chocolate covered cherries being acceptable Christmas Eve fodder. Gradually, this expanded to include a game too. Some people don’t like to read after all. And, somewhere along the way, we started including a puzzle. Some people don’t like to read or play games after all. Then movies entered the rotation. Some people need a little time alone on Christmas Eve with Jimmy Stewart after all. So, through the years, the rule has expanded and been modified until many, many presents are opened on Christmas Eve. My husband complains every year and I smirk (just a little) in victory every year. But, the book and pjs always make an appearance. In fact, now that my daughter has married and has kids I have started making sure they have matching family pjs. You don’t know true Christmas joy until you see your 6’7″ son in law in pajamas that match his toddler’s. Wonderfully awkward pictures have been taken that have been banned from any public forum. Please use your imagination. But my daughter’s book is always the focal point for me. It’s the focal point because I love that I raised a reader. When I was a kid, instead of giving us money for doing chores my parents would pay us for every book we read. Summertime meant a long list of books on the fridge with dollar amounts out to the side. At the bottom was your possible total if you read them all. I always did. So, when I had my daughter, I was kinda determined she would be a reader. Picking her Christmas Eve book played right into that. I have spent countless hours in book stores trying to find the perfect book for her every Christmas. When she was little I wanted the most beautiful story books. The ones with the incredible illustrations and a story line that made your heart hurt just a little with their truth. (Christmas Day in the Morning by Pearl S. Buck) As she got older, I wanted books that would become dear friends. Books she would want to reread every year. (The legend of Holly Claus by Brittney Ryan) Now that she’s a mom with zero time for herself, I look for books that I hope will say something just to her. The her that existed before the husband and kids. This year I thought I had picked a winner. I was looking forward to her greedily reading the book jacket and then sneaking off the first chance she got. I pictured her kids asleep early and her snuggled under her Christmas comforter reading until the early hours of Christmas morning. Not sure if you’ve noticed but I can be a little idealistic! (When I read this to my husband he will laugh hysterically at this point.) Anyway, these were my dreams. So, today, when I arrived at my daughter’s house and she handed me a book to peruse I felt a warm glow of motherly satisfaction. At least I was feeling that way until I really paid attention to the book I was holding. Then the satisfaction took a hit. I happened to know that that very same book was safely tucked under the tree in the Christmas Eve box containing four pairs of matching pajamas, 7 books (it’s hard to choose for the little ones!), two games and two puzzles. Again with the choosing. I considered, briefly, getting the book out of the previously mentioned box and scouring Amazon for a replacement. I considered stealing this new copy and trying to convince my daughter she was losing her mind and had never purchased it. I considered all the things. And then, I accepted defeat. Out of all the books in the world we had chosen the same one. That was cool right? Maybe it was a sign that it was time for a change. Out with the old and in with the new. A different kind of Christmas. Honestly, I was a little tired anyway. Because of my husband’s desire for a big surprise every Christmas morning, I basically haven’t had any closet, attic or shed space for the entire month of December for decades. Maybe we should just upend the whole Christmas thing altogether. Just throw presents under the tree unwrapped! Let people buy for themselves and wrap their own gifts. Let my daughter pick her own Christmas Eve book in the years to come. That sounds….awful. Besides, I have big plans this year. I’m going to introduce the idea that some people don’t like to read or play games or work puzzles or watch movies–some people like playing electronics on Christmas Eve. Imagine how many gifts I can rescue for Christmas Eve that way! On another note, my daughter and I are starting a Christmas book club. We both have our copies you just need to get yours.

Searching for Christmas. Day 8

~ yellowlamplight ~ 1 Comment

For me, it’s the little hand in his front pocket. It’s such a grown up stance. One part who he’ll be and one part who he is. I could have stayed in those toy aisles all day with him. We looked at every single toy. I took pictures for him of the things he really wanted and sent his parents pictures of the aisle numbers where the most important things were. I stopped all my grown up stuff and just entered into his little world for an hour or so. I let him push every button and pull every lever. I never once said, “We look with our eyes not with our hands.” I just put my grown up self on the shelf and just hung out with him. I don’t remember if I ever did that with my own kids. I think I was always in a hurry. I’m sure I was. There was always an agenda as a parent, but as a grandparent things are a little different. The only agenda is to be there. To show up. To soak it in. My husband and I joke sometimes about moving to Florida. We’re pretty sure there’s a little pink bungalow there with our name on it. White fence out front and a little Pomeranian peeking through the front curtains. Maybe two bicycles under the car port. The one with a basket is mine. We could go down to the beach with our neighbors everyday to watch the sunset and eat fried shrimp for dinner at four in the afternoon. But, we’d miss it all. Days like this day. He held my hand through most of the store and was enamored with the Legos. He knew just what he wanted to get his daddy for Christmas. And his little brother. He’s kind of a big deal. Don’t get me wrong, the next time I am making his sandwich wrong or his little brother is screaming as I’m trying to zip him into his swaddle I’m sure a beach scene will flash in front of my eyes. Maybe even a couple of umbrella drinks. But ask me if I would want to miss seeing his face when his family opens the presents he picked himself and the answer is absolutely not. Actually, I’m hoping if he gets this one particular toy we saw he’ll let me play too. Turns out you get to be a kid again when someone calls you Grandma. Especially at Christmas. Thanks buddy.

Searching for Christmas. Day 7

~ yellowlamplight ~ 3 Comments

Have you seen them? I know you have. The big cardboard boxes wrapped in Christmas paper taking up room in local businesses. Sometimes, because you’re curious, you stop and peek in. You find different things in the bottom. Sometimes it’s coats and packages of socks and maybe a couple of little kid shirts. The kind that come three to a package with the price stuck on with that extra sticky stuff that’s almost impossible to get off. Sometimes it’s toys. The little telephone on a string seems to be popular. Nerf footballs. Weird monster looking creatures that little boys love. Whatever it is it’s on its’ way to a kid somewhere. A kid who will wake up Christmas morning to a surprise. A present. A part to play in the excitement of the morning. God bless the folks who take the time to wrap those boxes. To put them out. To direct people to them when they wander in. The ones who gather up whatever is in the bottom of the box every evening and add it to a pile in the back. Waiting until the very last moment to drop it off somewhere or call to have it picked up. Hoping that the pile grows and that their red wrapped box makes a huge difference. And God bless the people who come to get the piles. Who take them back to a church or a conference room somewhere and separate them and log them and wrap them. They put shiny tags on them and group them for families or schools or neighborhoods. They load them up again and take them where they are welcomed by another crew that have arranged a little get together. There will be paper tablecloths with gold bells and greenery on them. There will be red paper plates and hot chocolate and cookies decorated like snowflakes. The lights will be too bright and everyone will feel a little awkward but there will be a warmth in the air. A gentleness and lots of quick smiles and parents with their hands on their kid’s shoulders or the back of their necks. Moms will be holding several jackets and Dads will be holding the littlest of their families. Candy canes will appear and some of those cheaply made Santa hats. Kids will get a little braver and some will start making furtive trips by the tree to see if there is a present there for them. They will run back to their parents grinning and hide again behind their legs. Soon Bob from accounting or Charles that teaches adult Sunday School will show up dressed as Santa. He will settle himself into an office chair or a couch pulled in from another room and the kids will assemble into a line before anyone even knows it’s happening. That one lady who always volunteers for these things will appear with a clipboard and starting checking off names from a list. Each child will leave with a gift wrapped and tagged with their name. They will take it back to the parents with a hopeful grin. “Can I open it now?” their eyes will ask. Sometimes the answer is, “Yes.” Sometimes the answer is, “Save it for Christmas.” Gradually the parents will leave with their tired kids and their arms full of gifts. Volunteers will begin to stack chairs and throw away empty cups and pick up discarded Santa hats. Eventually somebody will unplug the Christmas tree and shut off the overhead lights. It’s all as simple and as beautiful as that. It happens every Christmas and it always starts with someone wrapping a giant box in pretty paper. With someone being willing to be part of the chain of good deeds that will lead to four year old Christoper in his footy pajamas having a toy on the most important kid day of the whole year.

Searching for Christmas. Day 6

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I’m late getting yesterday’s post up. I’m late because my daughter showed up at our doorstep last night with her two boys. Our doorstep right now is attached to our fifth wheel. Let me just say that if you add two grandsons and their mama to a camper already holding myself, my husband and our two dogs you get glorious chaos! The daughter just needed a little break. Some time to herself. Even if it was just a few minutes. We fixed her up with a turkey sandwhich on a snowman paper plate and put the tv on a Christmas movie. Most of the time her tv at home is tuned to sports and she’s been unable to scratch that itch for small town love and Santa shenanigans this year. We took the boys up into our small bedroom and just basically set them loose. There were squeals and hiding under the blankets and the younger one pulling the older one’s hair. There were baby grins into the mirror and grandpa in the middle of it all wearing a Christmas shirt and loving every minute! It was wonderful. And it was totally due to the season. We are here because there are Christmas concerts, and early releases and days off from school that two busy working parents can’t navigate without a little extra help. So Grandpa and I are glad to hook up to our traveling home and come stay for a little while. We are really happy when we get nights like last night. Unplanned and wonderful. It’s one of the best gifts of the season. Extra minutes. Opportunities to make someone a sandwich. Unexpected knocks at the door. A gift from Christmas to us.

Searching for Christmas. Day 5.

~ yellowlamplight ~ 1 Comment

I heard a guy on tv say Americans are running out of shared experiences. We watch different news channels. We are shopping from our homes instead of in stores. Someone is trying to make concerts virtual with avatar artists. Every kid isn’t showing up for the first day of kindergarten down at your local school. The line of little kids with backpacks bigger than they are is a bit shorter these days. If you focus on all of that and the fact that Americans are even choosing sides over where we eat our chicken and drink our coffee it doesn’t take long to get depressed. Travel further down that road to some of the other things we don’t agree on and things can turn really, really dark. Into that darkness, Christmas comes to save the day. In so many, many ways. If you are a believer, Christmas is the promise that our Savior has already saved the day. We’re just waiting for the final score to hit the board. For it to be official that good wins. Hold tight to that. It’s gonna happen. Until then, hold onto Christmas. Christmas is our sign post to a future we all wish for. And it’s not going anywhere. I say this because, as someone who travels extensively, I am here to tell you Christmas is everywhere. I mean everywhere. I pass hay bales painted to look like Santa. Small towns drum up volunteers to go down and put lights on the courthouse and to find folks to decorate their trucks for the parade. Small businesses that have been struggling lately still pay someone to come and paint snowflakes and holly and snowmen on their shop windows. Teachers at the local school pull money out of their own budgets to make sure their students have a little gift to take home and open. A bottle of bubbles or a pair of fuzzy socks. A picture of them wearing a Santa hat and framed out in puzzle pieces to hang on the fridge at home. Someone from the city will go and dress whatever the big statue is in your town in a Santa costume just to make you smile. I’ve seen a giant man, a road runner and a panther all dressed as Saint Nick. Every one of them elicited a grin from me. And I was happy to give it. Grab a hot chocolate and drive around your neighborhood. A lot of people are stringing up lights to participate in the merriness this time of year. Red lights, blue lights, icicle lights. Giant pink pigs and nutcrackers and even an alien with a wreath around its’ neck. I’ve seen them all. There’s absolutely nothing more beautiful than driving through a dark night and suddenly seeing a brightly lit house in the middle of nowhere. You take your foot off the gas and slow down to look. If you’re me, you put your hand against the cold glass in a little salute to the time and energy it took to create that scene. You feel connected to the family who did it. Like maybe if you knocked on their door they might invite you in to watch A Christmas Story. Give you a fuzzy blanket to cover up with and start a fire. Imagine how many homes will do just that this holiday season and all of a sudden America will start to feel like a really big family again. Yes, we have those few relatives that have to start some drama every Christmas, but we don’t let them spoil the whole day. After all, a lot of us have showed up just to enjoy each other. To eat Christmas cookies and do kind things and hand out shiny packages to people we love. There’s more of us than there are of them. Look around and you’ll see I’m right. There are Christmas kindnesses everywhere and we can all participate as much as we want to. It’s a shared experience that we are all invited to. I hope the guy from the tv gets out and realizes that too. I’d like to hear more about the folks shoveling a neighbor’s driveway and volunteering to serve Christmas dinner at the local shelter and less about those seeking to divide us. Every wreath and blow up in a front yard is someone saying I’d like to be a part of this good thing that is happening. This time of year when people soften and life is warmer. This belief that, in the end, good will win. Yes please. You can count on me America. Put me down for a dozen cookies and a giant blow up Santa flying an airplane. Some kid will love that. And thank you to everyone helping decorate our country for our big family celebration. I see you.

Searching for Christmas. Day 4

~ yellowlamplight ~ 1 Comment

Stop and think for a minute about the noise of Christmas morning. Packages being ripped open. Squeals of excitement over what’s inside. Dad’s pleas to put all the paper and ribbons right into the trash. Mom’s pleas for another cup of coffee. The oven timer announcing fresh cinnamon rolls. Various noises from new toys. Dings, and clangs and clatter. It would be hard to describe a scene more representative of Christmas and what it means to everyone. I’m looking forward to just such a moment this year. Two grandsons. Hopefully a sister. My sweet husband. God willing it will happen. But, I’ve been on this earth long enough to have learned it’s the quiet moments that come before that noisy, joy filled one that really give Christmas its’ weight and depth. Its’ true sweetness. Ever been to a Christmas Eve service at church when the whole congregation falls silent while the candles are lit? One person sharing the dancing flame to the next and the only sounds are jacket sleeves brushing together and an escaped cough in the back. Ever gotten up early and walked outside in the snow? Your breath goes ahead of you and your shoes make that delicious slushy, crunching sound that means you beat the crowd. Your footprints are first. Ever been the first one to your dad’s table to have coffee with him? It’s the first day of vacation and you have no where to be. You and your dad drink coffee and talk just enough to not be awkward. He gets up and brings a paper towel folded into a square for your cup. You place it there and steady it with your hands so it doesn’t lurch. You want him to think his folded square is perfect. Ever been asked to watch your baby grandson on a quiet December morning? You drag his bassinet into the family room and rock him to sleep in front of the Christmas tree. It is so quiet and all you hear is his steady little breathing. Later, when he wakes up, you can see the tree lights reflecting in his eyes and when he smiles at you it’s Christmas. Weeks until the official day. The cinnamon rolls, package opening day but still Christmas. I wonder what quiet moment happened in all of your lives today that gave you that Christmas feeling? I wish I knew them all and I hope none of us miss them when they come. It’s a noisy world. Dings and clangs and clatter everywhere.

Searching for Christmas. Day 3.

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I spent the day with my grandsons and their mom. We were taking the kids to get Christmas pictures made. It was a much bigger deal to me than it was to my daughter. Her generation doesn’t understand the need for a studio picture with a beautiful back drop. For clean faces and perfectly combed hair. For a framed photograph that says these people matter. “Mom,” she said in that particular voice daughters use when explaining things to their mother. “I do not understand why we need professional pictures of these boys. They are the most photographed kids in the history of time.” She was right and her comment made me laugh. I seriously take more pictures than any human should. If you are facebook friends with me you already know this. I’m sorry. I really am. But I love the bits and pieces of life. The way my littlest grandson grins up at his grandpa. The way the light catches my daughter’s face as it climbs through her kitchen window. When she’s there at her sink doing dishes I see me. I see my mom. I see her. I don’t want to miss that. So, I photograph it. This gets me in more trouble than paying for professional photographs. “Mom!,” she says exasperated. “If you post that anywhere I’ll kill you.” I laugh, but I promise her it’s only for me. I think whatever that part of me is is also the part of me that makes me sit down and write. I so want to capture all of the tiny things that make life beautiful. Magic. Worth all of the pain that comes hand in hand with the wonder. Sometimes words work and sometimes I need a picture. For instance, if I could have, I would have photographed myself making a series of totally ridiculous faces at my grandsons today trying to get them to smile for their pictures. Can you just imagine what that must have looked like? A slightly old grandma bugging out her eyes and sticking out her tongue while she hopped from foot to foot. What a picture that would have been. I can guarantee my husband would pay big money for that shot. Honestly though, I do wish you would have been in that studio to see the sweet smiles. The hair combed into a perfect point and protected by little hands all the way there in the car. The careful way the big one balanced the baby on his lap. The serious consideration of which lollipop to choose when it was over. Oh, and their mother making her own faces and jumping up and down right beside me trying to help get the perfect picture. That might have been the best part of the whole day. Looking over at her and grinning because we were in it together. Remembering doing the same thing with my mom. Feeling again the blending of time. It was some serious Christmas magic y’all. I hope, if you’re getting family pictures made this season, you feel it too. If you can, grab your phone and photograph what’s going on behind the scenes. I would love to see it. I promise I won’t tell your daughter you showed me. If you don’t tell mine.

Searching for Christmas. Day 2

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If you are a parent you know the drive. That first one when they put you and a tiny baby in a car and let you leave the hospital. If you’re the mom you probably sit in the back seat and question your husband’s driving abilities. Every bump, every sharp corner brings a gasp. Someone has made the unforgivable mistake of entrusting you with a baby. And, as you will many times, you wonder who is in charge to let such a thing happen. I made that drive with my husband and our baby girl years ago. It was just starting to snow and there were decorated flatbeds gathering to be a part of a Christmas parade. As we drove through the frosty afternoon every house decorated with Christmas lights seemed especially important because they were part of her world now. This little package dressed in pink ribbons and flannel deserved the best. I sat in the back seat of our red station wagon with an arm draped across her car seat to protect her from whatever danger I perceived and grinned the entire way home. I was exhausted and I’m pretty sure I still had mascara smeared across my face, but I remember having such a feeling of magic. I couldn’t wait to get started. I couldn’t wait to be her mommy. When we finally pulled into our drive way I realized my husband had somehow gotten the Christmas lights up. They shone brightly in the blue afternoon and I was so glad. I gathered that tiny warmth against me and whispered in her ear, “This week I am taking you to meet Santa.” And I did. I dressed her in a tiny red velvet dress and her brother and I took her to see Santa. I have the picture in a box somewhere. Santa looks terrified to be holding such a new little person. You can tell he’s wondering who put me in charge of a baby. Same Santa same. But I’m so glad they did. She’s out there in the world now and she’s her own kind of Christmas light. If you know her you’re glad you do. I still try to make sure she gets to see the best the world has to offer and I still throw my arm across her in the car whenever I perceive danger. Doesn’t matter that she’s grown with kids of her own. Turns out she and I are still on that first car trip and always will be.

Searching for Christmas. Day 1.

~ yellowlamplight ~ 2 Comments

I wish you could have been there. Maybe you were. The store was pretty crowded. I might have missed you in the sea of flannel and Uggs. Snowman shirts and red ball caps. Heavy purses and high ponytails. I stood at the back of that crowd and wondered how long it would take me to make it to the front. I wondered but without any desire to leave. No way was I leaving without my ten dollar, three wick candles.

Honestly, I hadn’t even known I needed candles, but the nice elf lady in front of the store had handed me a bag and ushered me through the double doors. She had just assumed her store was my destination. Where else would I be going on ten dollar candle day? I didn’t have the heart to tell her it was to buy stadium chairs at a store further down from hers. That I had gotten up that morning, drank coffee, picked out socks and fueled up my car without even knowing it was the one day a year when three wick candles were only ten bucks.

Apparently the other three hundred women and two men in the store did know that. They had come with lists and ideas and deep pockets. Some people even went back to the elf lady for more bags. I was clearly out of my league. I almost ditched my bag on the end cap and left. But then I started to listen to the conversations around me. I always do this. Don’t say things in public you don’t want a writer to use. I’m just saying. What I heard was Christmas. People thinking about other people. Getting excited about making them happy.

“Dude, I’m going to buy this for Britt. She loves this kind of candy.”

“I’m getting this one for my mom. Her bedroom always smells like this.”

“This one just smells like Amanda to me.”

So, I joined in. I was by myself, but I had a very pleasing conversation in my head as I thought about the people I was buying candles for.

“Oh, I’m going to get this one for Renae. It smells so fresh and the colors will look great in her new kitchen. And I’m going to get this one for Summer so when she comes in after school she can make her kitchen smell like Christmas while she picks up. This one would be perfect for my sister, but I don’t know how I would ship it. Besides she might like to pick her own. Oh, mom would have loved this one.”

Y’all, before I knew it, I was grinning form ear to ear and happily humming a Christmas song. I made my way through the line, had a pleasant conversation with the girl running the cash register and exclaimed appropriately when she informed me how much money I had saved on candles I had had no intention of buying. I left with a shiny bag and a row of candles nestled in red tissue paper and chosen carefully for all my favorite people.

On the way out, I high-fived the elf lady and it caught the attention of an older woman trying to make a wide circle around the entrance to the store. She looked a little startled and did some kind of evasive move to try and avoid us but my pointy-eared friend was too fast. She shoved a bag in her hands and proclaimed it was ten dollar, three wick candle day. The older lady looked at me for an explanation, but I just winked at her and told her to go inside and listen for Christmas. The last I saw her the double doors were closing behind her and a worker was handing her a candle to smell.

Resistance is futile lady. Take your place in line.

Next door, they’re selling Rudolph sweatshirts two for thirty bucks. I know a couple of people who would rock those. I bet you do too. What the heck. It’s all for the people we love.

For Christmas.