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Growing up, Christmas was always a big occasion at my house. It was just the two of us, my mother and me. We never had much, but I didn't realize that as mother brought the magic of the season to me each year. We had a tree, a live one when I was tiny, but switched to an artificial when the good ones came out. Mother crafted hand-made ornaments for each branch. Throughout the year, she worked on these nightly as we watched TV. I still have them.
The tree stood in the living room which wasn't used much in her later years. In fact, it was usually closed up to save on heat. So, after Christmas, she simply covered the tree with a sheet and saved it for the next year. The "unveiling" was similar to other families decorating a tree each year.
One of my best friends from childhood had a family that didn't celebrate Christmas too much, so she came over Christmas day to eat with us and to open gifts. There was always a pile of presents under the tree. That's because if you received a pair of gloves, each glove was in a separate box. And each present had to be opened one by one while everyone oohed and ahhed about it, and then the next person got to open one. All this while the Turkey roasted in the oven.
But as much fun as Christmas day was, it was Christmas Eve that I cherished. Everyone we knew was with family so mother and I were alone. We had dinner, but I can't even remember what that consisted of. It might even have been nibbles around the tree as we sat and looked at it. But after dinner, the fun began. We got in the car and drove around our small town looking at Christmas lights. Sometimes my friend Jan would go with us. There were sections of town where the "rich" people lived who went all out with decorations. We knew them all and drove up and down their neighborhoods. Our main street also put up decorations back then. It was the typical small town with one street lined with businesses. The businesses decorated their windows: city decorations were on the light poles. But at the end of the street was the Catholic Church, and THEY had a life-size manger scene! Each year mother had to stop the car so I could get out and see it close up. It was one of the loveliest things I had ever seen.
We looked at lights until 11:00. Then it was time for midnight service. I grew up in the Lutheran church which is one step away from Catholic (well, maybe two steps as Episcopalian is probably the first step). The Lutheran service was liturgical and was a candlelight service. You received a small candle when you entered. During the sermon you tried not to fall asleep because you certainly didn't want to miss the grand finale! At just before midnight, the acolyte received a light from the altar candles and moved down the aisles lighting the first person's candle who then passed it on down the pew. When all candles were lit, the lights went out and we sang Silent Night. Whatever might have been wrong with the world disappeared for one magical moment. Peace descended on us all. And in the hush that followed when the clock struck midnight bringing in Christmas day, mother would lean over and whisper, "Merry Christmas, Patti."
Seasons have moved on. My mother is gone. My friend Jan was killed in a car accident 6 years ago. The Catholic Church's nativity now has a glass covering around it to prevent vandals. I have witnessed my childhood vanish in time. It exists now only in my memories.
What has not vanished is the love of Christmas that was instilled in me those many years ago. I turn my house into an advertisement for Holiday decorations. Two trees, lights everywhere, garland on every stationary surface, nutcrackers marching up my staircase, and my collection of nativity scenes spread out in every room. During my love affair with Italy, I discovered their Presepi, the wonderful scenes of Napolitano life with the creche located somewhere inside. I now have several of those I have collected.
My Christmas Eve's are different now. My husband and I drive and look at lights after a small meal. This year I will have a guest at Christmas and I am excited to have the company. Their room is decorated with the Christmas quilt my mother made for me along with a few Santas.
I usually spend the midnight hour in front of my fireplace, sipping cinnamon spiced tea and staring at my tree and mantel while Andrea Bocelli and Josh Groban serenade me. And, as the clock strikes midnight, I still hear the whisper of my mother's voice reaching through the ages and saying, "Merry Christmas, Patti".
My thanks and blessings to all of you who have faithfully read these epistles this year. I wish you a wonderful holiday and I know that 2026 will bring you great things.
The Bryson Broadcasting International newsletter will return January 15.
Merry Christmas!
Pat
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