Yesterday, I celebrated a "low-key Christmas" with my older sisters T1 and D and my brother S. The only traces of Christmas were the large wreath hanging from the door at my sisters' home and the 12-inch fake tree next to the television set.
D knitted a hat and scarf for me, but she insisted it wasn't a Christmas gift. Too bad. I consider them Christmas gifts anyway. Both were knitted from marled purple yarn and very warm. I kept my cap on for most of the day, except for dinner.
This Christmas was one of the few where there was no "drama" -- arguments, recriminations, bad memories. Just relaxing on the sectional sofa watching ice skating on TV or listening to Toni Braxton or After 7. No gifts exchanged. Just hanging out.
In my middle age, I realize the best Christmases have little to do with presents and decorations. They usually involve just hanging out with family.
Since I didn't get to see my younger sister T2 and her husband J, I offer thanks for a prized memory from 20 years ago. I was working for a newspaper in Bellingham, Wash. I had spent Thanksgiving with a married couple of copy editors and expected to spend my first Christmas away from my family because I didn't have the money to pay for a round-trip airplane ticket home. T2, who sometimes masquerades as Glinda the Good Witch, gave this Dorothy the ruby slippers -- a round-trip ticket to Oakland, where she and J later picked me up and drove to the Sacramento homestead.
When we arrived on Christmas Eve, Mom was cooking dinner. Because it was so hot in there, she had the front door open but the screen door closed. T2 announced that she and J were here and brought a guest.
I said, "Hi, Mom."
Mom gave me the biggest hug I ever had. "Herb, come in here!" she yelled.
"What?! What?!" Dad yelled as he left his den.
He saw me and also gave me a huge hug.
To this day, that is the best Christmas memory I've ever had. And for that, I am most grateful to T2 and J for giving me and my parents that memory.
Christmas. It's all about love.
Writing Diva
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