My mother is now in assisted living, my brother won't be making it home for Christmas (he made it home for Thanksgiving, but he splits his time between families these days, and it isn't our lucky turn at Christmas this year), and it will be just Dad and me for the most part. He doesn't want to get a tree, but if there are still ones available when I make it home, I will get one and set it up. It may be a Charlie Brown tree, but I hope I can get one for us.
When I was little, growing up in the 1960s, I could see the tree at the end of the hall, opposite my bedroom door. When they added on to the house, they moved the tree and I could no longer have that sudden glorious view first thing in the morning. I am sure it wasn't as amazing as I remember, but those are the things I hold onto these days. My parents loved Christmas because of the family thing. Or at least that is what I always believed.
As I look back on it now, we were certainly the baby boom beneficiaries of our parents doing better than their parents had done, and their desire to enjoy our little acquisitive faces -- we had toys and games and books waiting for us.
I remember the red paper with Santa Clauses and reindeer. But I don't remember many of the presents. A lite brite I guess was one of the big ones (it probably is still in a closet somewhere in the house today), and my beloved easy-bake oven. I can't remember which stuffed animals came to me at Christmas. I remember the presents my brother gave me, as much for the fact that he sent me on treasure hunts to find them, as for what they actually were. Although one of the excursions ended up with my first Julia Child cookbook -- I do remember that.
What I do remember are the more recent gifts I gave to my parents. My brother gave me a little boy's tie we found in his dresser so I could replace the dorky bow tie on a teddy bear I got my Dad my first year in graduate school. I didn't know if my Dad would like the gift, as it seemed too simple. I was really worried he wouldn't like what I was giving him. He saw the bear under the tree (we don't wrap stuffed animals -- how would they be able to breathe?). And he didn't believe it was for him, but when he was convinced he scooped it up, hugged it, and didn't put it down for the rest of the morning. He had a tear in his eye -- "No one ever gave me a stuffed animal before." He had always given them to others but hadn't received one himself. That was a winner.
I was listening to Pandora yesterday evening as I graded papers, and the Christmas channel I was following (Medieval Babes, Christmas, if you are interested -- a nice mix) played "O Holy Night," a song I remember my mother singing me to sleep with. She always used to sing us to sleep. She had a pretty light voice. Her piano still sits in their house, a pretty black Aiwa one that is now almost 60 years old. In the bench are the books and sheet music I grew up with -- the Christmas carols book that had the pretty blue and black and white (or maybe it is just the cover that has blue?) pictures and the music -- "O Come All Ye Faithful" and "The First Noel" -- I learned the songs from that book, and learned to read sheet music in part from that. There were sheet music single songs as well, and that is where the music for "O Holy Night" is to be found. I remember her playing and singing for her own pleasure. I haven't cried very much this fall about this all, and that is surprising as I am quite a fountain of tears at the drop of a hat. But last night I found myself sitting at my kitchen table and sobbing and sobbing at the woman we have lost. Parts of her are still there, but the woman who played the piano and sang with the music, the one who helped me practice the duets for my music lessons, and who loved hanging that silly foil star over the fireplace (it always came down as she only would use Scotch tape, nothing stickier that might take the finish off the wood paneling), who made most of the Christmas stockings for the family... That woman is only findable in brief moments. I ordered my own my own calendars this year (something she had always given me -- one for my house and one for my office), and will be doing any Christmas cooking that is to be done for my Dad.
I am thinking about Chinese food for Christmas. It seems traditional, somehow.