Ah, the festive season, the reminiscing season, is upon us.
I remember my mother, Helene, lighting the candles on our Advent wreath the four Sundays before Christmas. It was a tradition she kept from her little town in Germany. The wreath of pine and cedar boughs was decorated with pinecones, gold walnuts and Fliegenpilze (red mushrooms with white dots—a symbol of good luck). It was suspended from a slender red pillar set into a wooden base and topped with a gold star.
For me, each lit candle brought Christmas a little closer. And the thought that those candles are mighty close to that wreath!
My dad continued the tradition for the two years he lived after my mother passed away. He would make sure to buy a fresh wreath, decorate it and add in real candles. When they started to show their age, they spluttered and flickered and sprayed out tiny blue sparkles. The Christmas spirit was present. It was a comforting tradition for him. But we looked at those sparks sparking away and said, “Don’t light the candles if no one is here, Dad”.
Fortunately, his wonderful neighbours Mohammad and Gerry kept a close eye on him. I am eternally grateful to them. They were the true spirit of this season.
In my first year at university, our German professor invited the class to a friend’s house one winter weekend. We arrived at the outskirts of Gravenhurst. The place looked like we had just entered an enchanted snow globe. Surrounded by fields of pine trees, the large wooden cabin had been designed and built by the owners. Later we went out to the field to cut a Christmas tree. We trekked through a forest of pines puffy with snow wreaths. Now that I look back I’m assuming it was the owner’s land. I hope it was. Coming from a suburban house, I didn’t give it too much thought. We finally chose and cut a magnificent tree and took turns hauling it back. Up it went right by the giant picture window. We could see the snowflakes chasing each other as darkness fell. After we put up the decorations, real candles were lit. It was the first time I saw a fresh Christmas tree lit up with real candles--in a wooden house!
That magical sight has stayed with me ever since. It wasn’t a gathering of family, but the spirit of Christmas togetherness and joy was there.
And no, I have never put real candles on our live Christmas trees. The strings of lights you plug into the wall are about all the excitement I can handle.
Then there was Nonna’s parlour—the living room reserved for important guests and for us once a year on Christmas Eve. Any new boyfriend or girlfriend who looked like a “keeper” was made to feel welcome, to feel like one of the family. A close Italian family at its best. Back then, we all stayed up till midnight, even the toddlers. I still remember those little kids, tired beyond all understanding, clutching their toys. I imagine they were really questioning when Santa’s bedtime was.
Another time, we made some unknown person very happy. It was an act of kindness—unintentional. We had a beautiful stand of evergreen trees on our property, planted by the previous owner, who was a forester. I took a walk one snowy day through the field and came to the corner of the back fence. I looked twice. For many years that space held a majestic blue spruce. No longer. All that was left was a tree trunk ending at about the height of a chainsaw wielded by some tall person. Purloiner and tree had made a clean get-away.
Now that our family has grown to over 50 people, we tend to celebrate New Year’s Eve in our own smaller family circles. In the early years, the whole bunch of us got together on the last day of the year. We all stayed up till midnight and raised a glass of champagne, wishing each other Buon Anno.
“We are still here. We are still together,” I marvelled each year.
As the years went on, parents were no longer there, some chairs were empty, but somehow there always seemed to be babies. Any little tyke in his or her high chair was the centre of attention. Our communal anima reached out to this new little being. Again and again, our eyes turned to this new life that would go forward into the future. Some of those babies now have little ones of their own, and we are looking forward with them.
I’d like to wish all my readers a wonderful Christmas, a festive season and a happy, fulfilling New Year as we look forward to our futures.
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