From Where I Sit

By Pat Spilseth, Columnist

Time to turn the calendar to the magical month of December. Morning stars at 6 a.m. thrill me as I walk to the mailbox for the newspaper. The moon and constellations shine so brilliantly in these dark skies of early winter. The sun is slow to rise in morning’s silence; white frost covers the lawn. Deer, racoons, bunnies and probably a few red fox hide behind trees in the park across from my mailbox.

Time to get out the tinsel, glass ornaments, the creche scene, Christmas dishes, nutcrackers, and trim the fragrant tree. Christmas music will play constantly on the radio as I prompt my husband to write his annual Christmas letter and look for the favorite books we enjoy reading this season like “A Christmas Memory” by Truman Capote.

It’s time to bake holiday treats smelling of cinnamon, vanilla and nutmeg. I hunt for my cookie cutters of reindeer, stars, angels and santas stored in a reindeer tin high up in a hard-to-reach cupboard. I’m baking holiday breads of bananas, cherries and chocolate chips to put into holiday tin containers. The festive tins hold Christmas treats, my coffeecakes, cookies and breads, that I enjoy sending to far away friends who are short of time to bake holiday treats. Who doesn’t enjoy a cup of coffee with a sugar cookie?

The local areas papers are filled with holiday suggestions. Christmas concerts, boutiques and special church services have been scheduled. The post office is already warning me to mail gifts early. They usually print a “Dear Santa” letter form for kids to fill out. My granddaughters are writing their wishes already. Yes, kids still love to dream of Santa sliding down the chimney on Christmas morning.

Growing up at the jail, my family never had a fireplace with a chimney for Santa to slide down carrying gifts. But Barbie, my little sister, and I never questioned that dilemma. The jolly guy magically appeared while we slept Today’s kids are so sophisticated; surely they’d figure out that Santa wouldn’t come down a chimney hot with fire burning.

Santa is part of the magic of Christmas. At church we love to see the Christ child in the manger with Mary, Joseph and the wise men. I still remember the solemnity of the nativity at the altar of Glenwood Lutheran Church. What a glow surrounded the scene of the babe lying in a wooden manger surrounded by kids dressed as animals, a demure Mary and Joseph in Mom and Dad’s bathrobes with a scarf or towel around his head tied on with rope or twine.

One year my little son Andy was chosen to be a wooly lamb. On all fours he crawled the aisle to the altar of our neighborhood church bleating out loud baas. The crowd couldn’t help but chuckle. He was probably two or three years old, and his big sister Kate was in the children’s choir with her blonde locks crowned with a halo of tinsel, a white cape with red bow. She waved to us throughout the memorized verse she had to recite. What kid doesn’t like to have a starring role in these homemade productions?

Adults enjoy remembering that Christmas magic of childhood. And who doesn’t remember Virginia, the 8-year-old girl who wrote a letter to The New York Sun asking “Is there really a Santa Claus?”   

The newspaper assured Virginia that some people only believe what they can see. The paper went on to tell Virginia, “Not believe in Santa Claus! You might as well not believe in fairies. You might get your papa to hire men to watch in all the chimneys on Christmas Eve to catch Santa Claus, but even if you did not see Santa Claus coming down, what would that prove. Nobody sees Santa Claus, but that is no sign that there is no Santa Claus. The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see. Did you ever see fairies dancing on the lawn? Of course not, but that’s no proof that they are not there. Nobody can conceive or imagine all the wonders there are unseen and useable in the world.”

“Only faith, poetry, love, romance, can push aside that curtain and view and picture the supernatural beauty and glory beyond. Is it all real? Ah, Virginia, in all this world there is nothing else real and abiding…he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood.”

Enjoy the magical month of December.   

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To contact Pat, email: pat.spilseth@gmail.com.