Windows and Candles

As Christmas time approaches, my blogging is dredging up scads of childhood memories. That should come as no surprise to me, since Christmas looms pretty large on most children’s calendars. December 1st, today is the day that the Advent Calendar would have been taped onto the window by the dining room table in our home on South Knoll Road. Its arrival always signaled the countdown to the holiest of holies.

I loved the Advent calendar. It kept my avarice at bay, since each newly-opened window revealed a virtual present: a wagon, a bike, a toy soldier, a drum, a ball. It didn’t matter that the gifts couldn’t be played with. I knew that they were only promissory notes, to be held in my imagination until the real things could be unwrapped on Christmas morning.

I favored calendars that showed glittery scenes of old-timey towns or European locales. Not for me the ones where each day revealed a chocolate. We tried that once and one of the candies actually had a worm in it, which quickly ended the experiment. Nope. It had to be glitter, and the more the better. The downside was that it often obscured the little numbers, which were already devilishly hard to decipher.

Naturally, we three children took turns at the important task of prying open the little windows, usually resorting to a dull table knife to lift the corner. It was an important task each day. The morning light would shine through the translucent image like a miniature stained glass window in our cathedral of anticipation. Naturally the big double door for Christmas Day was the most cherished, since it always had a nativity scene – a brief reminder of what the season is supposed to be all about.

We tried to get the tradition started with my daughter, Jessica. But the fact of her being shuttled back and forth weekly as part of our shared custody arrangement took away the day-to-day continuity required to sustain interest. Had I thought of it earlier, I would have created a Harry Potter-themed Advent calendar. That would have captured her loyalty, surely.

After the calendar went up and the tree was installed in the corner of the living room, the decorations had to be brought up from the basement. Everything Christmas-related was kept in one of my father’s old army trunks, beneath the shelves of suitcases. The trunk always smelled of scented candles that my parents had brought back from Germany, where my father had been stationed after World War II. One was striped like a candy cane and as thick as my arm, and the other was cream-colored, with colored insets of wax. They got a little beat-up over the years, and I couldn’t really tell you exactly what they smelled of, but their scent epitomized Christmas and took me on an imaginary journey to a country that was impossibly far away and before my time.

Also before my time, were the decorations that nestled in tissue paper in carefully divided boxes. These had come from Germany, too, and were precious beyond gold. Naturally, they had to be placed high on the tree, above careless play, curious cat paws and swishing dog tails. There were blown-glass figures, intricate beaded stars, globes that enclosed little scenes, and glass birds that flew among the highest branches.

The newer ornaments had been purchased with little hands in mind. Dime-a-dozen glass balls, plastic figures, and metal stars that could be accidentally bent and re-shaped, were hung on the lowest branches. In fact, until we could reach the higher limbs, our tree was decidedly more decorated on the bottom half. My father would always put the delicate German angel on the top.

The scented candles would be set out on little saucers, never to be lit, my father would hang his favorite print of a Christmas elf bringing bowls of food to his cat and dog, and the decoration of our house would be complete. We never went overboard in the festive department.

Our work done, we would celebrate with eggnog, cookies and peppermint ice cream and admire our new tree, which was always the best that we had ever had.

My father sold the family house three years ago, to a nice family with two small children. I wonder if they put their tree in the same living room corner? And I wonder if they also have an Advent calendar on the window and a trunk in the basement for their Christmas things?

It seems funny that someone else should be celebrating Christmas in the house that had been built for us, back in 1954. I hope they appreciate that their new home has a long tradition of holiday cheer. In many ways, and especially at this time of year, I am still there.