Magic of the Season

This was originally posted on my blog in Dec of 2008.
I thought it might be nice if it was republished as I was feeling a bit nostalgic this evening.

I decided this would make a great Saturday Sampling post, too.  Stop by Mrs. 4444's place for more great posts from other bloggers.


Enjoy!
Kristin

My Mother wrote this piece for the Lansing State Journal a few years ago. I have it framed and hanging on my wall. I stand and read it every so often and it chokes me up every time.

In this home, Santa, magic of season still thrive
by Judith (Bommer) Bridger

I believe in Santa Clause, in reindeer on the rooftop, in a wish list and a plate of cookies beside the fireplace. I believe in stockings filled with oranges and nuts and a candy cane crammed in the top. I believe in unwrapped toys made by elves decorated with ribbons and bows: a book or two, a pair of mittens, a baby doll (that I can hardly resist buying for my granddaughter this year) a coloring book and socks, always socks.

Mostly I believe in the wonder of a small child standing before the blazing tinsel-decked tree on Christmas morning, amazed that Santa did actually come during the night, ate the cookies and left a note that read, "Some little gifts for my special girls, with love, Santa."

The small child was mine of course. And one became three. The wonderful daughters. Years of Christmas mornings when they stood huddled together peering with delight, laughing and giggling over what Santa had brought them.

As they grew older, their laughter became whispers and serious conversations as they waited by the tree for their dad and me to make our way down the stairs in our bathrobes. Christmas morning became a tradition of nibbling on poppy seed bread and blueberry bars, admiring packages, the wrapping paper and the bows.

We laughed and poked fun over phrases like "Christmas Eve Day Morning" before eventually opening packages. It took hours.

Next came the Christmas breakfast of potatoes, onions and bacon all fried together with a scramble of eggs, a steaming bowl of freshly made applesauce and flaky croissants.

I miss waking to the sounds of their voices. I cannot recall Christmas and my children without tears. They are happy tears, yet mixed with that little longing, for what always seems like the good ol' days.

All my daughters are grown now and I'm gathering little stacks of Santa toys for the grandchildren. Two boys and one girl this time.

The welcome lights are in the windows and the tree is adorned; years of old decorations revived from their boxes, finding their longtime home or an exciting new one. Each ornament admired and placed in its perfect location, rearranged and considered. Tinsel's the final touch; strands hung carefully, as I consider how melting snow would make an icicle.

Under the tree, there's a collection of teddy bears. It looks like Santa has already been here.

How can I not believe in Santa? I am attached to the pleasure of this holiday ritual. Peace and joy and love. It overtakes me. I will cling to it as long as I can.

written for the Lansing State Journal and published on Tuesday, December 20, 2005

Thanks Mom!
Love, Kristin