[Previous entry: "B-A-B-Y"] [Next entry: "Christmas Present"]

12/23/2004: "Christmas Past"

I remember sitting at the top of the stairs with my brothers, well before my parents were up, craning my neck to see through the door into the living room, though the tree and all the presents were hidden behind the near wall. I remember the glass of milk I left for Santa, freshly drained on the mantel, traces still running down the side. I remember going out on Christmas Eve and bargaining for a tree at the Methodist lot. I remember my mother, sitting in her recliner, directing us on the distribution of tinsel, as the Mormon Tabernacle Choir sang. I remember my brother insisting on playing John Coltrane's version of "Greensleeves". I remember the Metaxa he gave me every year; she gave me The Farmer's Almanac. I remember hangovers and the hair of the dog on Christmas Day. I remember the year she came down the steps and saw the new recliner we'd bought for her, brought in after she was asleep, and gift-wrapped. I remember how, after the stroke, she took ever more delight in its trappings, reading catalogs, wrapping gifts, the music and lights. I remember her in her wheelchair, trying to get the paper of with the one hand that worked, and my helping her. I remembeer the year she died, when we went to another home, in another state. I remember the first year I worked at the church. Christmas sexton, and how exciting and new and exhausting it all was. I remember the Christmas dinners I've had at friends' houses, barely able to hold my head up at the table. I remember letting Gordon ring the churchbell last year as the carol sing on the town green ended. I remember hugs all around, after the midnight service was over, and everyone left for home. I remember getting out of bed on Christmas Day, and no one there to greet me. I remember how a rose e'er blooming stands by the back door this year.