MERRY CHRISTMAS
TO ALL
It was an evening several days before Christmas, as I sat under the gazebo down at the hole. Looking around, I admired the woodpile, so neatly stacked. It made me think of those I love most, with hopes they would soon be back. The new fire pit glistened in the snow as sparks drifted into the night heavens, as if they were tiny messengers to those that looked down from above. The tarps were stretched tight around the gazebo, just in the event that the wind did blow.
The cabins were all quiet, no lights did burn as I watched the flames from the fire pit reflect off the snow. As I sat by the fire and stared into my coffee cup, Dutch sat by me with his head on my knee as if he were a pup. Ruger was nestled into his chair, as if he were going to take good winter nap. However, tonight, he kept his eye on me.
As we sat by the fire, the stars in the heaven sparkled so bright, all seemed so right this particular night. Thoughts of Christmas past came to light. What a great time of the year. Pouring myself another cup and stirring the sugar twice, I think to myself, this will be my sixty-fourth. With some reflection, I can recall the majority of them from my early childhood. I feel regret that there are those children and now adults that never fully experienced the meaning of Christmas and the traditions that can be passed from generation to generation.
As I gaze into the night heavens and see the constellations overhead, I thank my mother for making Christmas a special time of the year. She was always regretful that she could not give her children as much as she wanted. Unknown to her and to us at the time, she gave us the greatest gift of all, the meaning of Christmas. Oh, we got a few presents, she was always sure that she got at least the number one choice on our Santa list along with a few smaller gifts and of course new clothes for the last half of the school year.
Reflecting back, I regret that I cannot recall giving her a gift until later in my life. Perhaps the smile she saw on our faces Christmas morning was the gift she enjoyed the most. She would start preparing for Christmas weeks in advance, making fruitcake, candy, and assorted goodies. These she would “hide” away in some closet until Christmas day.
As I poured myself another cup of coffee, stirring it twice, I remember a particular gift that Santa brought me on Christmas morning. The house we lived in had a cellar which had an exterior entrance. On my wish list, I had told Santa I wanted a table mounted walkie-talkie, similar to those I had seen on the police programs on the television. I was ecstatic that Santa brought me my gift. She asked me where I was going to set it up as it had two microphones. I explained to her that I wanted to set it up in the cellar and put one of the microphones in the house. The microphones were wired together so there was no great separation. She went on to start the cooking process for Christmas. Following dinner, she asked me when I was going to clean the cellar and install my radio. I hesitated and she said we could do it right now. We spent the next hour or so stacking boxes, sweeping and setting up a desk and installing my radio. The first voice I heard from my new radio was that of my mother from the kitchen.
As I gaze over the rim of my coffee cup into the flickering flames, I think to myself how I would love to hear that voice one more time, even over a crackling play radio. My mother was a big part of each of my Christmas seasons, even when I was away from home on a ship somewhere, the care packages always arrived in time for Christmas. She was a special lady.
Looking into the flames of the fire, I realized the greatest gift my father gave to me as a child was the opportunity to meet and know my grandparents, uncles, and aunts on my mother’s side of the family. On two different occasions, he loaded us into the family pick-up and drove us to Arizona to spend Christmas with my mother’s family. Perhaps, it was a gift to her but I wonder if he realized how important it would be to me in later years. I never had the opportunity to meet my grandparents, uncles, or aunts on the Harrington side of the family. I regret that but I cherish the memories of knowing the Riley family. As I sip the last of my coffee, I think of how much he would enjoy sitting around the fire and telling stories of his adventures.
After getting a few more slabs for the fire, Ruger still curled up in his chair and “Dutch” laying beside me, I pour another cup of coffee. As I watched the smoke curl up through the bell tower and disappear into the night, my thoughts turn to Brother Tad and Don. I laugh to myself wondering if they are sneaking some of mom’s “spoon fudge”. No doubt, while they are fighting over the fudge, Shane is making off with the entire pan. What a threesome to draw to! As I pour myself the last cup of coffee in the pot, I think of Dorothy, she was special and so much like her mother. In sixty-four years, a crossword was never exchanged between us. She was inspirational and taught me so much about family value by her example.
As the tears swell and occasionally find their way into my coffee cup, I look at the stars overhead and realize just how much I miss each of them but also blessed that they were a part of my life for so many years. Each of them gifted me with so many fond memories, the greatest gift that they could give me during the holiday season. In the reflection of the fire, I see the outline of the Bear Den in the darkness of the night. A memory flashes through my thoughts of the day that the loft in that cabin was completed. The roof was not yet on, after struggling a bit, Shane made his way up the ladder to be joined by Dana. The two of them stood on the loft, their arms around each other’s waist, the beaming smile of Shane; one would have thought he was standing in the most expensive penthouse in the world. The happiness they reflected, I had to turn and go for a private walk.
These are the thoughts and memories that I shared with myself as I sat around the fire and enjoyed a pot of coffee with Dutch and Ruger. Christmas is one of those special times of the year that you can reflect upon the past with clarity and understanding why events unfold the way they do. Just in the event, that some special visitors also want to sit by the warmth of the fire, I retrieve another load of firewood and bank the fire. Loading up Dutch and Ruger, we turn to leave the “hole” as I look in my rearview mirror and see the sparks flying into the star filled night, lighting the pathway for those visitors so they to can enjoy the quietness of the night and their memories.
TO ALL
It was an evening several days before Christmas, as I sat under the gazebo down at the hole. Looking around, I admired the woodpile, so neatly stacked. It made me think of those I love most, with hopes they would soon be back. The new fire pit glistened in the snow as sparks drifted into the night heavens, as if they were tiny messengers to those that looked down from above. The tarps were stretched tight around the gazebo, just in the event that the wind did blow.
The cabins were all quiet, no lights did burn as I watched the flames from the fire pit reflect off the snow. As I sat by the fire and stared into my coffee cup, Dutch sat by me with his head on my knee as if he were a pup. Ruger was nestled into his chair, as if he were going to take good winter nap. However, tonight, he kept his eye on me.
As we sat by the fire, the stars in the heaven sparkled so bright, all seemed so right this particular night. Thoughts of Christmas past came to light. What a great time of the year. Pouring myself another cup and stirring the sugar twice, I think to myself, this will be my sixty-fourth. With some reflection, I can recall the majority of them from my early childhood. I feel regret that there are those children and now adults that never fully experienced the meaning of Christmas and the traditions that can be passed from generation to generation.
As I gaze into the night heavens and see the constellations overhead, I thank my mother for making Christmas a special time of the year. She was always regretful that she could not give her children as much as she wanted. Unknown to her and to us at the time, she gave us the greatest gift of all, the meaning of Christmas. Oh, we got a few presents, she was always sure that she got at least the number one choice on our Santa list along with a few smaller gifts and of course new clothes for the last half of the school year.
Reflecting back, I regret that I cannot recall giving her a gift until later in my life. Perhaps the smile she saw on our faces Christmas morning was the gift she enjoyed the most. She would start preparing for Christmas weeks in advance, making fruitcake, candy, and assorted goodies. These she would “hide” away in some closet until Christmas day.
As I poured myself another cup of coffee, stirring it twice, I remember a particular gift that Santa brought me on Christmas morning. The house we lived in had a cellar which had an exterior entrance. On my wish list, I had told Santa I wanted a table mounted walkie-talkie, similar to those I had seen on the police programs on the television. I was ecstatic that Santa brought me my gift. She asked me where I was going to set it up as it had two microphones. I explained to her that I wanted to set it up in the cellar and put one of the microphones in the house. The microphones were wired together so there was no great separation. She went on to start the cooking process for Christmas. Following dinner, she asked me when I was going to clean the cellar and install my radio. I hesitated and she said we could do it right now. We spent the next hour or so stacking boxes, sweeping and setting up a desk and installing my radio. The first voice I heard from my new radio was that of my mother from the kitchen.
As I gaze over the rim of my coffee cup into the flickering flames, I think to myself how I would love to hear that voice one more time, even over a crackling play radio. My mother was a big part of each of my Christmas seasons, even when I was away from home on a ship somewhere, the care packages always arrived in time for Christmas. She was a special lady.
Looking into the flames of the fire, I realized the greatest gift my father gave to me as a child was the opportunity to meet and know my grandparents, uncles, and aunts on my mother’s side of the family. On two different occasions, he loaded us into the family pick-up and drove us to Arizona to spend Christmas with my mother’s family. Perhaps, it was a gift to her but I wonder if he realized how important it would be to me in later years. I never had the opportunity to meet my grandparents, uncles, or aunts on the Harrington side of the family. I regret that but I cherish the memories of knowing the Riley family. As I sip the last of my coffee, I think of how much he would enjoy sitting around the fire and telling stories of his adventures.
After getting a few more slabs for the fire, Ruger still curled up in his chair and “Dutch” laying beside me, I pour another cup of coffee. As I watched the smoke curl up through the bell tower and disappear into the night, my thoughts turn to Brother Tad and Don. I laugh to myself wondering if they are sneaking some of mom’s “spoon fudge”. No doubt, while they are fighting over the fudge, Shane is making off with the entire pan. What a threesome to draw to! As I pour myself the last cup of coffee in the pot, I think of Dorothy, she was special and so much like her mother. In sixty-four years, a crossword was never exchanged between us. She was inspirational and taught me so much about family value by her example.
As the tears swell and occasionally find their way into my coffee cup, I look at the stars overhead and realize just how much I miss each of them but also blessed that they were a part of my life for so many years. Each of them gifted me with so many fond memories, the greatest gift that they could give me during the holiday season. In the reflection of the fire, I see the outline of the Bear Den in the darkness of the night. A memory flashes through my thoughts of the day that the loft in that cabin was completed. The roof was not yet on, after struggling a bit, Shane made his way up the ladder to be joined by Dana. The two of them stood on the loft, their arms around each other’s waist, the beaming smile of Shane; one would have thought he was standing in the most expensive penthouse in the world. The happiness they reflected, I had to turn and go for a private walk.
These are the thoughts and memories that I shared with myself as I sat around the fire and enjoyed a pot of coffee with Dutch and Ruger. Christmas is one of those special times of the year that you can reflect upon the past with clarity and understanding why events unfold the way they do. Just in the event, that some special visitors also want to sit by the warmth of the fire, I retrieve another load of firewood and bank the fire. Loading up Dutch and Ruger, we turn to leave the “hole” as I look in my rearview mirror and see the sparks flying into the star filled night, lighting the pathway for those visitors so they to can enjoy the quietness of the night and their memories.
7 comments:
Dang Stan, I think I got a few tears in my morning coffee but not tears of sadness.
Growing up Christmas was always about my father and his depression. In his quest to provide us the BEST Christmas he would always fail as HIS expectations were unreasonable, not ours. This would ultimately lead to a depressing Christmas with my father in one of HIS moods. I never wanted this for my kids and even if I could not provide the Christmas I had dreamed of I knew that the spirit of Christmas would not be lost for my Children. While my father taught me this through his bad examples you and your family (my family too!) reinforced it with your good examples.
For me as an adult the excitement of Christmas was not and is not about the presents, although it is SO FUN watching the kids open their gifts and the looks on their faces when they get what they asked Santa for. The excitement was the family spirit and memories that we will talk of for many years to come like a half eaten pickled Pete floating in the hot tub or frozen gold fish.
These memories give us something to look back on and something to look forward to. Thank you for this post.
I guess tears in the coffee is contagious. Thank you... For the memories and teaching me the meaning of Christmas.
I would love to comment but I'm crying like a baby. Thank you Stan for all the memories and good times you and your family have shared with me. Merry Christmas!
WOW That was beautiful, and I too often think of the Christmas Spirit Grandma instilled into you and you into us..the greatest gift of all was the ability to see magic at christmas. So many of my friends and loved ones have never experienced that magic until they met us. A gift my grandma gave many through us. Love you dad.
Great post dad. Wish I could be there to enjoy that fire and share some tears with you. I know the people we have lost in our lives are with all of us every day. The memories given to each of us by our parents are passed to our children and like a family name are passed to each of the following generations. Thank you for making christmas such a special time of year for me and all those privleged enough to know and love you. Merry christmas dad and mom, with all my love and respect Heath.
ok now i am blubbering....I love my family.
Good Post. Mom sure could make Christmas special on a tight budget. My brother Stan is special as well. I remember a birthday long ago
which inolved a Tonka road grader. My savings of pennies did not quite add up to the full price and I believe that Stan somehow came up with the difference just in time for a November 19 morning so long ago. That is a brother.
Post a Comment