The Ghost of Christmas Past, Present, and Future

Snow was a rare sight on the hills and plains of still, rural Indiana nights. Yet, I seem to have such delightful memories of glittering drifts and snowball fights early the following mornings. The chill of the air reddened the tip of my sheet white nose as the only warmth I could collect came from the merciful sun. One of my favorite memories is of me and my father playing in the snow until dusk, stripping off my sopping, frigid clothes to change into lovingly worn pajamas while a cup of hot cocoa awaited my arrival on the kitchen table. Sipping that warm cup of kindness nurtured me in ways I rarely experienced.

I particularly enjoyed when the snow had first fallen overnight. Waking up to a beautiful sea of snow, untouched as far as the eye could see, held some type of primal natural beauty to me. It was almost as if I was witnessing an untouched, unexplored wilderness. A place where humans hadn’t yet gone to and desecrated. The snow would glitter in the morning sun, as if beckoning my eyes to indulge all day in the glory of mother earth’s gift of love: almost as if she was whispering to me to preserve the majesty of the connection between my spirit and the earth.

Run, Rudolph, Run! left its imprint on my childhood as well. The song by Bryan Adams became my holiday anthem for weeks, months even. My cousin and I (who were the same age) grew up as closely as siblings, and we loved hastily putting the “A Very Merry Christmas” CD into the massive stereo which sat in my living room. Perched on the magnificent brick hearth, the stereo sat to the left of the roaring fireplace. Burning wood left a scent of wonderful char on the air as we jammed out to Run, Rudolph, Run whilst running around an antique dining room table bequeathed to my mother by my late great-grandmother. I didn’t realize it then, but that table represented a holiday connection to the best great-grandparent I never got a chance to know. Just thinking of it, the way it felt and looked in my great high-ceilinged living room fills me with a deep nostalgia in which I rarely get the opportunity to bask.

Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer and the island of misfit toys was another Christmas staple of my childhood. This one is particularly close to my heart because my family was never really a family that embraced any sort of tradition. We never embraced anything entirely. The family more-so just floated from one obligatory event to the next, never following through on any of its own wishes. This left me feeling quite homeless, like a drifter not owning any roots. However, everyone was always welcome on the island of misfit toys. Despite the fact that I watched it alone, this is where I found my Christmastime home.

In other extracted memories, I pull from just bits and pieces fractions of times well-spent. Christmas wouldn’t be Christmas without my dear Nana. Nana had Christmas every year at her home in the countryside with her husband, Charles. This was always done on Christmas Eve, and it was really the only December family get-together I could look forward to consistently. I got to see all my favorite people: my cousin and her husband, Nana and Charles, my aunt, and my other cousin and his family.

Christmas was always the best when dad could attend - my father worked holidays and nights often as a respiratory therapist, and he missed many holidays with us. Typically, he could come to this one holiday for at least an hour, but then he would inevitably have to kiss me and tell me good-bye to leave for the hospital an hour away. The pain of missing him there I can still feel crisply now in my recollection.

Nana wasn’t the greatest cook, but she was still a decent one. She could make all of the traditional dishes. Nana was actually the only person who cooked until my cousin got old enough to take over some of the hosting duties. Nana’s children either didn’t know how to cook or didn’t desire to. Most times I made my own food growing up, which consisted of toast, cereal, packaged oatmeal, or easy Mac. Occasionally, mom would whip up some hamburger helper, velveta and shells, or spaghetti, but those meals were not regular. I can’t recall eating a single meal with both my mother and father in attendance, other than some of my birthdays.

But, it was never like that at Nana’s, especially not on Christmas. Eating wasn’t a lonely chore, but rather it was a time to learn and have fun. I would ask Nana over and over how to cook her famous dishes, and each time I got the same answer: “Oh, you just add a little bit of this and a dash of that.” The woman never worked from a written recipe and because of this I never learned any of her dishes - not even her famous and most beloved dessert: chocolate pie. Every year I waited all year long for multiple helpings of three dishes at Nana’s: the traditional little smokies, along with the same traditional meatballs, and her most beloved dish, chocolate pie. I don’t always remember what was said, and I definitely don’t remember any of the presents I got, but I do remember the precise feeling in my belly and my heart when I took my first (and last) bite of that chocolate pie.

Come to think of it, no one ever tells you this but one day, when your grandparents are old and frail, a day will come when they will unknowingly be making your favorite dish for the last time. This time is unknown even to you. But there will come a day that the last time you’ll ever eat your precious grandmother’s pie will come and you won’t know until that day has come and gone.

Aside from all of the nostalgia, poignant and beautiful, I’ve begun to make my own family traditions along the journey of Christmases past, present, and future. Inspired from either lack of tradition or a reminiscence of it, the way I perceive rituals and pass them onto my own children is forever altered.

For years we did just what we knew; my husband and I put up a tree and went with family to a Christian church. As time ticked on and we started having children, it became clear we wanted something more, something unique to us and our shared desire for tradition. Slowly, we searched our souls and the world around us. We got into Judaism and began conversion classes. This lasted for almost two years as we made our way closer to ourselves. On this long journey, I realized Abrahamic religions are just not for me, and I decided that I would instead become a follower of Buddhism and Buddhist practices. Today I’ve embraced a hodgepodge of religions and beliefs and forged a belief system something of my own design. Most of my beliefs are still based in Buddhism, but with a heavy emphasis on kindness and love.

Which brings me to another point: traditions and rituals are not always based in religion or even spirituality. In choosing the traditions for our family, my husband and I decided to choose traditions also based in joy, fun, and personal meaning.

Through the years, our holidays have changed as we have evolved. Continued tending of our joy and need for bringing meaning to our togetherness shapes our annual celebrations. We decided when the kids were young to watch holiday movies and have friends to our home to make a Christmas dinner. I decided when the kids were little to incorporate a family activity, with each of us building our own gingerbread houses. I also loved watching the Christmas lights as an adult, as it wasn’t really something I got to do as a child. As a matter of fact, none of the aforementioned activities were things I had the opportunity to participate in as a kid. Thus, my inner child yearns for joyous family traditions promoting togetherness. If my inner child still aches for holiday magic, I want to make sure that I deliver that magic to my child self, as well as to my own children.

This year, we added a new family tradition - one full of joy and togetherness: enjoying a pot of chocolate fondue. Food brings us closer as humans, as demonstrated by my own fond memories of Nana's chocolate pie. Connecting over a bowl of chocolate seems right up mine and my family’s holiday alley. Dunking marshmallows, fresh fruit, and left over pie pieces into a cauldron of bubbling chocolate summons the holiday spirit in a way I never knew I needed until the first luscious bite.

Tomorrow is Christmas and my children will awake, at the latest, at 6:30am. As aggravated as I’ll be for having to wake up before I’ve really fallen into a deep enough sleep, I’ll lament the fact that another holiday has suddenly presented itself on my doorstep and will disappear as quickly as it comes. I still remember all of the Christmases past, the one’s that began with a great expression of excitement, “Mom! The sun is up! The sun is up!” Bittersweet as the bubbling semi-sweet chocolate of yesterday, the sun does still shine another day. I have deep gratitude for it rising on tomorrow, which will rapidly become today - a day of my children’s greatest joy. Smiles will live gleefully on their faces for hours as they play with their freshly unwrapped gifts.

However, that is not what I will most remember about today and tomorrow, and I have a sneaking suspicion it will not be what the kids remember as they grow older either. I suspect they’ll remember the togetherness that my husband and I have fostered with purpose. They’ll remember being at home with their mom, dad, and sibling, content and happy. Maybe they’ll even remember building the gingerbread houses while singing ‘Last Christmas’ at the top of their lungs. I also know that they’ll remember the deep joy shared over a love-infused, home-cooked meal and a pot of warm, melted chocolate.

I hope you too experience a warm, joyous holiday with your loved ones this winter season. Happy Holidays!