Beyond the ordinary

People always talk about the magic of Christmas like it's something that sparkles in the air--something you can almost touch if you believe hard enough.  The lights, the music, the snow (if you're lucky), and that warm feeling you're supposed to get when you look around and see joy everywhere.   But what is Christmas magic really? If I'm being honest, I don't remember it anymore.  Or maybe I've just forgotten what it feels like.  

CHRISTMAS PAST

When I was a kid,  Christmas was never quite like the movies.  Half the time, we couldn't even have a tree because I was allergic to them.  The other half of the time, my mother was in a mental hospital, so it was just my dad and I.  Christmas wasn't magical--it was quiet, simple and sometimes sad. 

We didn't have stockings hung over the fireplace or big family gatherings with laughter echoing through the house.  On Christmas Eve, we went to church.  I sang in the choir, and that was usually the highlight...standing there under the soft glow of the sanctuary lights, singing about joy to the world while feeling something I couldn't quite name.  Maybe that was a kind of magic, even if I didn't realize it then. 

THE YEARS OF MAGIC

When my kids were little, that's when Christmas magic came alive again.  Their excitement was contagious.  The sparkle in their eyes when they saw the tree lit up for the first time.  The way they'd peek around the corner on Christmas morning or come thundering down the stairs, too shy to run to the presents when they were younger, and then ripping through them like maniacs as they grew older.  The sound of their laughter as they tore through wrapping paper, excited to see their new toys or games, was worth every minute.  That was the best kind of magic, the kind that only comes through the eyes of a child. 

And Thanksgiving... that was the start of it all.  Thanksgiving dinner was always an event--cooking a huge meal together, filling the kitchen with the smells of turkey and pie, and that comforting chaos that only family can create.   After dinner the guys would set up the tree while the girls cleaned up the kitchen.  The guys would eventually wander off to play video games or work on projects in the garage, or go to the basement for a game of ping-pong.  Meanwhile, us girls would decorate the tree.  We'd laugh, do each other's hair and watch The Wizard of Oz while hanging ornaments that held their own stories of years gone by. 

Those were the good times.  The simple times.  The kind of moments that made everything else fade away.  Those are the memories I want to hold on to.  The one's I'd love to recreate somehow.  

THE RUSHED YEARS

When the kids were small, Christmas mornings started early, bright and chaotic, full of torn wrapping paper and squeals of excitement, but as soon as it was over it became a marathon.  We were always rushing.  Having a blended family, it was either our year to have them, or it wasn't.  We had a "his" and "hers" family.  Families, exes, grandparents -- all different branches of family that came with divorced parents and blended homes.  So we'd spend a lot of the day in the car, going from one house to another, one meal to another, one set of grandparents to another.  By the end of the day, we were tired, overfed and worn out from smiling and saying Merry Christmas a dozen times.  It was family, yes, but it wasn't peaceful.  Christmas felt like something we were trying to survive, rather than enjoy. 

My son said this year, once he gets his kitchen remodel done, Christmas was at his house.  His whole childhood was spent driving all over Christmas day, so this year he said everyone was coming to his house whether we liked each other or not!  And you know what?  I get it.  Trust me I GET IT!  It was a pain in the butt then, and I can't blame him for wanting something different now that he has a family of his own. 

THE DISTANCE BETWEEN US

Life has a way of scattering people.  My daughter lives 5 hours away in another state with horrible weather in between us and her.  One year we made the trip for Thanksgiving and hit horrible weather and it scared the crap out of us.  We said that was enough.  We decided we just couldn't do it again and we don't want them traveling in horrible weather either.  And honestly, it's not just the weather.  It's everything.  The pets, our store, the chaos that comes with trying to leave home for a few days.  And for her, it's no easier.  She has a full time job, the kids, the farm, the pets, her bookstore and it's just impossible.   Steve's kids are also scattered all over the country.  We're older now, and traveling just isn't easy anymore.  Steve hates to travel.  So we make the best of it.  We call, we video chat, we send love from afar.  It's not the same, but it's something. 

THE CHANGING SEASONS

The years go by and everything shifts.  The kids grow up, start their own lives and their own families, and their own traditions.   Somewhere along the way, the magic starts to fade.  Christmas becomes expensive.  Stressful.  Complicated.  It's about how much everything costs, or how early you have to start shopping, or how exhausted everyone feels by the time it finally arrives.  It's become so commercialized that it's easy to forget what it was ever about in the first place.  Some years I don't even bother to put up the tree.  What's the point if no one's here to see it?  We used to have Christmas Eve parties -- the house full of people, laughter, music, food.  Those nights were special.  But those times feel like a lifetime ago. 

FINDING THE MEANING AGAIN

This year we are going to my son's for Christmas as long as everyone is healthy.  Maybe that'll bring back a little spark of what's been missing.  Maybe seeing him in his own home, surround by the life he's built, will remind me that the magic doesn't disappear, it just changes shape.   Maybe the Christmas magic isn't the glitter or the gifts or the traditions we used to have.  Maybe it's something quieter.  Something small.  Like a phone call from someone you miss.  Or a moment of laughter that surprises you.  Maybe it's a memory that sneaks up and warms your heart when you least expect it.   Maybe the magic is in remembering and in letting yourself feel grateful for the people and moments that made it special once, even if they've changed. 

So, I don't know if I'll put up a tree this year.  Maybe I'll light a candle and play some old Christmas music, the kind that makes me think of my dad or the church choir or my kids when they were little.  Maybe that's enough, because maybe the Christmas magic isn't gone.  Maybe it's just waiting to be noticed again.