Getting into the season

My oldest brother was born on Christmas Day in 1951. My mother was only 18 years old, and the baby came two weeks early. Dr. White was on vacation in Florida. Dad had to drive her to the hospital through a snowstorm. Mom says she spent the day crying because she had missed Christmas dinner.

It was her favourite time of year. When she was a little girl still living at her grandparents' house, Poppy would crawl into bed with a thread tied to his toe, the other end tied to the gramophone so it would magically turn on. When Mom and her sisters leapt out of bed they would find all the adults asleep.

Her enthusiasm never wore off. When I was little we would each receive a pile of presents, plus a few from Santa Claus with different wrapping paper and handwriting on the cards. I was the baby of the family; my brothers are ten and twelve years older than me. Once during my late teens, Mom admitted she could never sleep on Christmas Eve. It was the the epitome of family time: everyone coming together, eating good food, and giving generously to one another.

Christmas stockings were especially important in our family, loaded with small but useful items. I was so enthralled with the idea of family traditions that I started one of my own. I made toy soldiers out of all kinds of containers—coffee tins, Pringles cans—covered with construction paper uniforms styled after real historical military costumes. These were filled with Christmas cookies and other treats I had made myself.

Christmas was the happiest time of my year. As a teenager I missed my brothers badly. Bob and his first wife lived in Toronto, Mike and Dawn in Guelph, both more than a three hours drive away. But at Christmas our big house would be full of people again.

Yesterday I wandered through the Flour Barrel, picking out candied fruit and nuts to make Christmas cake, which I haven't done since I was married. Today I am gathering together fibre, beads, found objects and a grab-bag of specialty papers I bought from the Japanese Paper Place several weeks ago. I haven't decided what these things will become, but last year I bound my first handmade books, albums of memorable photographs for my daughters. Marian and Brenna were delighted. This year I have in mind trying a technique of paper quilting.

I have time and, thankfully, more energy and sense of wellness than I'm used to at the beginning of December. Thanks again go for the light box, I suppose. Every year I contemplate starting new traditions more in keeping with the winter solstice and rhythms of nature. The religious aspects of Christmas were never my mother's focus, either. We sang Christmas carols around the piano because we were a musical clan. Family is still important to me, especially now I have chosen one. I had some lonely Christmases, but they are past.

I am hopeful. How else can we possibly face the future? This season of the year, when days approach their darkest then turn around again, is a time to celebrate hope.