Reminiscence /‚remɘ‘nis(ɘ)ns/ noun-plural noun: reminiscences — a story told about a past event remembered by the narrator.
I think /I THiNGk/ idiom — used to say that one believes that something is true, that a particular situation exists, that something has or will happen, etc.
Snow that had fallen the previous day had melted, refrozen and formed a thick layer of crystalline white that coated the ground. Fresh powder had been lightly falling since midday, in small fluffy flakes. Picturesquely covering the landscape, but retaining that unmistakable crunch with every footfall.
Newspaper rustled from the recliner. Busy bustling about emanated from the kitchen. Blocks meticulously being stacked on the dining room floor. When the front doorbell rang.
Newsprint and curtains were laid aside. A sincere grin of childish wonder passed over the father’s face. As he summoned wife and child from their chore and construction. Beckoning they join him at the front door. And when, with that same wonderment it is opened, time travel seemed entirely plausible.
Evening light silhouetted a cluster of figures standing on the lawn. Rosy-cheeked faces, now illuminated by the front stoop light, looked cheerily up at the trio framed by the home’s door. Their dress held a Dickenesque quality. Adorned in top hats, bonnets, long dresses, topcoats, wool gloves and long scarves. In tandem they opened the aged song books they each held. And as gentle flakes wafted down and swirled around them, they began to sing.
Silent night, it’s beginning to look a lot like and we wish you a Merry Christmas, and wonder of whether or not we had figgy pudding on hand… or at least some hot cocoa. None was offered, none was asked, so none was given. And with a wish for Happy Holidays, they merrily sang their way to the next house and into memory.
Whose Chevy Suburban it was is not recollected. With a bit of packing, the entire family fit inside was. Sardines have more personal space and yet the ride to see the lights of McAdenville was a joyful one. Smiles all round as singing along (or attempting to) with the radio’s Christmas play list passed the time. Santa Claus was coming to town and running grandma down with a reindeer. Lights are lights. Even lots of them strung together hardly illuminate memory like moments with an accompaniment soundtrack do.
The church’s annual Christmas play was a sight to behold. Real wooden set pieces, straw on the floor and handmade costuming. And an actual baby away in the manger gave it a surreal, real feel.
Littler kids were cast as animals. So, my then bestie and myself were as up to our eyeballs in wool as sheep. A bigger kid, a year or two our senior and quite the bully, was placed in the role of the donkey. Rather fitting as, he was a kind of a jackass.
As the play commenced the fight broke out. To our credit we stayed in character. Bleating and jumping about as donkey boy sought out well placed kicks, several of which rocked the makeshift barn.
Joesph (played by a teenager) looked on in horror. But the teenaged stand-in mother of God took charge. Berating and separating us just moments before her Away in a Manger solo. Whether it was fear of her holy wrath or the heavenly, sincerely sweet voice she sang with that quelled us, cannot be said. But her performance in the face of childish adversity was commendable and memorable.
For regular readers, who know me so well, it goes without saying this writer holds a special dark place in his heart for the holiday season. For irregular readers and those just tuning in — I don’t care for it very much. And yet… sometimes… there is… something.
It’s not the lights nor the tree. Not the food or gifts. But rather the selected seasonal soundtrack.
A “Holly Jolly” time with Burl Ives, while taking a psychedelic surfing “Sleigh Ride” with the Ventures, as Perry Como reminds us (There’s No Place Like) Home for the Holidays. Music that recalls memory, memories that recall moments when life wasn’t so damned complicated.
Yes, young reader — the old stuff. Just remember the day will come that your holidays will age also. Until then, find a part of it you enjoy listening to.
I welcome almost all questions, comments via FOCUS, or email me at [email protected]. Hope to hear from ya until then try and stay focused! See ya.
