It's the Most Stressful Time of the Year by Stuart R. West

Warm your holidays up with some chills!

Sing with me, everyone! Huzzah! The holidays are nearly over!

No more fruitcakes (no, no, not the food...that ONE uncle. Yeah, you know which one I'm talking about). Say goodbye to the wrasslin' wranglers of the store aisles, the ones who give soccer players a run for their money. So long to false smiles when you open a box of tighty-whities (I killed the snickers when I threatened to model them). And no more uncomfortable hugs. Especially uncomfortable hugs.

I think I'm the only one who has a problem knowing when to hug. Hugging protocol isn't in my armory. In my family, if you accidentally touch someone, the knee-jerk reaction is to jump like an Olympic kangaroo. Yet, there's my wife's family, the huggin'-est family around. No problem with that, as I love 'em all, truly I do. I think it's nice, actually. So I studied and watched them. Maybe it's an Oklahoma thing, I naively thought.  When the Fed Ex man rang the doorbell, I put what I'd learned into play, welcoming him with a big ol' bear hug.

Well, turns out I still have a bit more to learn.

Anyway, Christmas time. I used to look forward to the holiday. Not so much anymore. Call me a curmudgeon or a realist, I'm okay with both.

Several years back, our Christmas was different in many ways. For instance, I only heard the cloying "Santa Baby" song whenever we went shopping. Usually it's a mainstay that digs into your head like a dentist's drill. But on Christmas day, the song of choice seemed to be "Let It Snow,"  a song I loath because the sentiment is treasured only by children and drunk television weathermen. Obviously the singer lives in Florida.

This particular holiday was filled with more than its fair share of excitement, not the particularly good, cozy gather-around-the-fireplace type, either.

A niece I adore decided to get married on December 21st in Midwest Kansas, home of winter blizzards. So, that Saturday morning at 6:30 a.m. (my wife's a hard-charger), we set off for Hays, attempting to stay one step ahead of "Storm (I think they named it) Dumbledore." You know, the storm that blew the socks off everyone in the States (Canada, I'm looking at you!).

We got there okay, albeit bleary-eyed, delirious, and pumped up on caffeine and sugar. My daughter woke up in the back seat, yawned, and with a happily contented tone said, "Wow, that trip wasn't so bad." Even though she was 21 at the time, I I still grounded her for life.

BOOM! Flat tire after lunch. 22 degrees outside. (Merry Christmas, everybody!) Freezing, yet determined to show my masculine side, I changed the tire in, say, fifty-five minutes. Much cursing ensued. Icing on the cake? My wife ("accidentally," she says) kicked me in the nose. Grease-stained, sniffing, and broken-nosed, we're just in time for wedding pictures.

The next morning (6:30 a.m. again) I'm dreary and suffering a bad back from the lousy hotel bed. And the ice machine, birthing baby cubes right outside our door, kept us up all night. (Happy Horror-days!) But I pulled up my big-boy britches 'cause it was time to go to Oklahoma to celebrate Christmas with my wife's family. 

At one stretch, the highway was covered with huge chunks and stalactites of snow. It felt like we were four-wheeling (it's a Midwest thing, folks, don't worry about it). And we nearly got stuck in the parking lot of a "Pilot" store getting gas.

And these stores...you know, I never knew there was such a variety of "quick in and out stores." I think we visited them all across the Midwest. There was the aforementioned "Pilot," the downtrodden "Stop-Shop (home of the world's filthiest bathrooms)," numerous "Kum-n-Go's (tee-hee)," and, of course, my personal new favorite discovery, "The Wood Shed." I'm telling you, "The Wood Shed" is Nirvana. It's what the Stuckey's of my childhood used to be. Their logo is great, a Beaver or something glaring at you with googly eyes. When you open the door--just like a carnival funhouse--a ginormous fan blasts you with a ghostly groan and a seriously threatening whirlwind of heat. (While I was waiting for my wife, I amused myself by watching newcomers freak out when they crossed the Barrier of the Damned.)  After you survive tornado alley, a giant blow-up snowman with an evil grin looms over you! Fantastic! And the bathrooms...the glorious, wondrous, old-fashioned, smelly bathrooms with antiquated machines boasting of  mysterious treasures such as "Big Wally" and other enticing sundries. Plus there was a plethora of crap for tourists to get suckered into. Gave me Christmas chills.

Then the trip turned nightmarish. My wife ran over a red squirrel in the highway. His eyes still haunt me. Took me seconds to shake it...

Had a great time with my wife's family. But I was sleep-deprived and loopy the whole time (kinda' like how I was during college). I found myself drifting off on many occasions--taking a Scrooge-like trippy side-trip--looking down on the proceedings as if I'd died or something. Maybe I did for a minute. With a turkey leg in my mouth.

Finally...it was over! And this Christmas shall to come to pass.

Merry Christmas everyone and God help us one and all!

In fact, you know what I think? I think Peculiar County would look mighty nice under a Christmas Tree this year... 

Click For Thrills, Chills, Mystery, Nostalgia, Romance, and Laughs

A Christmas Story -- Janet Lane Walters #MFRWAuthor #BWLAuthor #Christmas Story #Children

I wrote this story many years ago. At that time my children were young and I was into reading stories to them. They always asked me to write them a story and so I did.

 

The Urn of Fate

Pedro tossed a stone down the hill and sighed. He felt a tugging at his woolen scarf and turned to stroke Blanca, his pet merino sheep.

“Si, Blanca, soon it will be time to go down but I must think now. Jaime’s coming for a few days. Can you imagine, he’s to be my special friend until next Christmas?”

Pedro put his arm around Blanca and she settled beside him. Christmas hadn’t been good this year. Pedro frowned as he remembered how excited he’d been when his grandmother, Abuela, had picked up the Urn of Fate and started to draw names. Pedro had held his breath.

Last year, Tio Carlos had been his special friend. Tio Carlos had given him Blanca and had taught him many things about being a shepherd.

This year, Abuela had drawn Jaime’s name to be Pedro’s special friend. Pedro wondered what Jaime would give him. Jaime always had his nose in a book.

Pedro had been so disappointed he had run from the room, saying he had to feed Blanca and the chickens. His eyes had burned with tears. Abuela had planned the whole thing but it wouldn’t work. He and Jamie could never be special friends.

“Pedro, Pedro, come quickly,” his mother called.

Pedro rose slowly and untied Blanca’s rope. “We must go, little one.” He and Blanca made their way cautiously down the hill. Blanca was going to lamb soon and Pedro took special care of her. She was his future. Someday, he would have the largest flock of sheep in Spain.

“Pedro, I want you to take some eggs to Abuela.”

“Si, Mamacita,” said Pedro. “First, I must put Blanca in her pen.”

“Let Jaime do that while you gather the eggs.”

Pedro hadn’t noticed Jaime standing in the doorway. “Hello, Jaime,” he said. “I’ll get the eggs and you put Blanca in her pen. Be sure the door is shut.”

“May I pet her?” asked Jaime.

“Sure.”

As the boys started down the hill to their grandmother’s, Jaime said. “Blanca is a merino. I read they produce fine wool.”

Pedro grinned. Maybe Jaime wouldn’t be so bad after all.

When they reached their grandmother’s house, Pedro carried the eggs in. Jaime followed him.

“Good day, Abuela,” said Jaime.

Abuela took the eggs. “Thank you,” she said. “I’m glad Jaime could visit you. It will do you good to be outdoors more, Jaime.”

“Si Abuela,” Jaime said.

“And you, Pedro, Jaime can interest you in books. The schoolmaster has been talking to me.”

“I don’t need books. I’m going to be a shepherd.”

“Some knowledge might help.”

“Si, Abuela,” said Pedro. “Come, Jaime, Mamacita will have supper ready.”

The sky was growing dark and the wind had begun to blow.

“Hurry, Jaime,” said Pedro. “It’s going to snow and Tio Carlos said Blanca might have her lamb any time. I want to be with her.”

“Can you only think of that smelly sheep,” said Jaime. “Tio Carlos always smells like sheep.”

“So will I. I’m going to be a shepherd.”

“And I’m going to be a school teacher.”

When they reached home, Jaime went to the house but Pedro headed for Blanca’s pen. A few minutes alter, he burst into the house. “Blanca’s gone! It’s all your fault, Jaime. The door wasn’t closed tight.” He ran out.

“Pedro, wait for me,” called Jaime. “I’ll help you.” He pulled on his coat and tried to tuck the loose ends of his scarf in as he ran after Jaime. “I’m sorry I didn’t do it right.”

“I should have done it myself,” said Pedro. “Blanca, Blanca!” He tried to follow the tracks Blanca had left.

The wind began to blow and snow swirled through the air. Finally, Pedro stopped and slumped to the ground.

“It’s no use. The wind has hidden her tracks.”

“Pedro,” called Jaime. “Here’s a bit of wool on this bush. We must search like the American Indians do. I studied them in English class. We’ll find her.”

Pedro stumbled after Jaime. Each time Jaime found a new sign of Blanca’s travels, Pedro was amazed. The storm was so thick he could hardly see Jaime.

“I must rest,” Jaime said.

“But look, there’s a big lump in front of those bushes over there.”

Pedro ran forward. “We’ve found her. Oh, Blanca, why did you run away?”

He knelt beside Blanca on the ground.  His eyes widened when he saw the two lambs nestled against her. “Jaime, come quickly. Blanca has two lambs. We must get them home.”

“Pedro,” Jaime screamed.

Pedro turned and saw Jaime lying on the ground. He ran over.

“I tripped on a tree root,” said Jaime. “My ankle hurts. I can’t stand. Now we’ll never get Blanca and her two lambs home.”

“You found Blanca and I will get us home,” said Pedro.

Pedro found some stout branches and put one on either side of Jaime’s injured leg. He tied them with his and Jaime’s scarves. Then he carried Blanca and the lambs to Jaime.

“Put the lambs in your coat to keep them warm while I try to make some kind of sled with some of these pine branches. I’m glad you didn’t take Blanca’s rope off. We can use that.”

After Pedro wove the branches together, he put Jaime and Blanca on the makeshift sled. He tugged on the short rope and started down the hill. The sled bounced over the uneven ground and Pedro thought it might fall apart before they got far. He hoped he could find some shelter for Jaime and Blanca so he could continue home for help.

“Pedro,” said Jaime. “Sheep are soft. Can we be friends?”

“Didn’t the Urn of Fate choose us?” said Pedro. “Maybe you can find me some books about sheep.”

“Pedro, look. There are some lights moving up the hill.”

Pedro looked up. Mamacita must have called men from the village to look for us. We’re almost home, my Blanca, my two lambs and my special friend. Here we are,” he shouted.

The End

Holiday Traditions

I come from a family with three sisters and a brother which made the Christmas holidays fun because there were a lot of presents under the tree! For the first seventeen years of my life, Dad was in the Air Force and that meant moving every few years, but regardless of whether we lived in South Carolina, Florida, Georgia or Texas; Japan or Kwajalein, our Christmas traditions arrived right along with the Mayflower Moving Van.

We always got a Life Saver^© story book; we hung stockings on a pretend fireplace. We girls dressed alike in outfits Mom had made for midnight church service on Christmas Eve.  And we would always peek under Mom’s bed because that’s where she always hid the Christmas presents. (My own children were well into college before I quit giving them Life Saver^© storybooks.)

One of my holiday traditions was writing Christmas stories for my family and friends. Over the years there were stories about Christmases in the past, Christmas ghosts, holiday memories and even lumberjacks who helped Santa. One of these stories, "Once upon a Christmas Wish" was about a small coal mining town in Pennsylvania called Snow. Even in the midst of the coal mine shutting down, the children of the town decided to celebrate the holiday with a snow sculpture festival. This story so captured me that I decided to write a mainstream novel based in Snow. Again, the snow festival was such a huge part of the story that I even invented a fictitious website all about the town and its many businesses. 

That story is "Always Believe". It’s a story about family and friendships and maybe even a miracle or two. Emma doesn't believe in the enchantment of Christmas, but then she and her dad move to Snow, where even the stores have holiday names. What is she supposed to think when her new friend, Charlie, pulls her into the magic of the holiday by insisting he knows the location of Santa's workshop?

Letters to Santa tend to be another tradition of the holiday. But what happens when a typographical error causes hundreds of letters to Santa to end up at a Chicago Cosmetic Company? Because of an error in ad copy, CEO Chantilly Morrison is inundated with letters from children, whose scribbled wishes tug at her heart. She hires an investigator to find the letter writers so she can throw a huge Christmas party and make the children's fantasies come true. AJ Anderson can find the unfindable, whether it's lost artifacts or people and he's very good at his job. But when Chanti dumps hundreds of letters in his lap with the directive to find the children -- before Christmas Eve -- he knows the request is impossible, but the woman is irresistible. Should he use his skills to make her Christmas wish come true, or can he use the countdown to Christmas to find the key that unlocks the lady's heart?

I wish you all the best of the holidays, in whatever way you celebrate and with whatever traditions you hold dear. If one of your traditions just happens to be reading a fun holiday story, I invite you to grab a copy of “Always Believe” or “If Wishes Were Magic”, both available from http://bookswelove.net/authors/baldwin-barbara-romance/

Barbara Baldwin

http://www.authorsden.com/barbarajbaldwin

Advent calendars by J. S. Marlo

J. S. Marlo BWL Author Page

I would be lying if I said I wasn't counting the days before Christmas, mainly because I take care of my five-year-old granddaughter every morning, and the first thing we do while we're eating breakfast together is to check the date and month on the calendar. Now that we're in December, we also count the days before Christmas Eve and then she opens her two Advent calendars.

I debated which Advent calendar to buy her before I settled on the chocolate and the Lego calendars. There are so many different ones on the market, but like many Christmas traditions, where or when did this one start?

Advent calendars originated in the 1800s in the German-speaking world when parents began to think up different ways to illustrate the remaining time until Advent for their children in order to highlight the special, holiday atmosphere of the season.


Some parents added a new picture with Christmas themes to their wall or windows each day leading up to Christmas Eve or Day. Other made 24 lines with chalk on cabinet doors or door frames, then allowed the children to wipe away one stroke each day.

In Austria, they made “heaven ladders” on which one progressed down the ladder rung by rung each day, illustrating the concept of God coming down to Earth. And in Scandinavia, a candle was divided into 24 segments and a segment was burned every day until Christmas.

In the late 1800s, they started making “Christmas clocks”. The face of the clock was divided into 24 segments (some adorned with song texts or Bible verses) and the hands moved one step further each day.

Then in 1908, inspired by his childhood memories,  Gerhard Lang (1881-1974) commercialized the first print Advent calendar. As a child he'd received 24 cookies sewn onto the lid of a box by his mother and he was allowed to eat one of them every day during the Advent period.

Lang's calendar didn’t have any little doors  to open...yet. It was composed of two printed parts: one page contained 24 pictures to cut out, and a cardboard page on which there were 24 boxes, each with a poem composed by Lang. The children could cut out one picture each day, read a verse and glue the picture on it. On December 24th the Christ child, dressed in white, was glued in place.

In 1920, the first Advent calendar with little doors or windows to open appeared, and around 1926, Lang created the "Christmas Rose", the first Advent calendar with 20 pieces of chocolate from the Stollwerck company.

Over the decades, the calendars evolved in shapes and content, from chocolate, to cheese, to toys, to wine tree, and everything in between, but one thing hasn't changed. It still counts the days until Christmas, building up the excitement in both children and adults.

Only 17 days until Christmas...

Wishing everyone a joyous holiday season!

JS

 J. S. Marlo's Website

Some Memories Of Christmas by Victoria Chatham

 AVAILABLE HERE

So here we are at the end of 2018 already and looking forward to another Christmas and New Year's celebration.  

Christmas always reminds me of family gatherings, During the war years, this gathering always took place at my grandmother's house. My cousins and I looked forward to decorating the live tree. The windows were covered with a blackout curtain and the tree stood in front of it.  We were allowed to clip the holders for real candles onto the branches. We never knew which dad or uncle might be home on leave, but if none of them was, then my grandmother lit the candles. Health and Safety today would have a bird about those candles! Decorations around the house were always branches of fir, mistletoe, and holly. I don't remember who started it, but it became

something of a tradition to outline the edges and veins of the holly leaves with silver paint and this kept us kids occupied while my gran, my mum, and aunts prepared food.

For a number of years, I lived in a 300-year old Cotswold house. When I first saw the house I thought the living room, with its exposed oak beams and open fireplace, would be the ideal place for a family Christmas, and it was. One year my boys took charge of acquiring the tree. I never asked where it came from, I don't think I really wanted to know, but it was so tall they had to take about 3-feet off the top so we had a tree and a bit. Another Christmas my daughter bought her eldest brother a beanbag and packed it in a big appliance box. Give cats and kids a box and they will have endless fun with it. I laughed myself silly as my son converted the box into a bus and his sister and one of the dogs squished in behind him. As they were young adults at this point there may have been some alcohol involved. 

 

A few years ago I was pet and house-sitting at a lovely country home in England. That year was wild and wet and with so much flooding washing out roads and leaving debris everywhere, I decided to not risk the trip to visit my family but stayed put. I've never minded being alone but appreciated the phone calls with my children even more on that particular Christmas Day. To keep the flavor of the season I had my table decoration and a Christmas dinner from Sainsbury's grocery store and finished the day curled up on the sofa with the two dogs I was sitting and watching TV.

For me, Christmas is not so much about giving gifts as spending time with family and friends and none more so than when I can spend that time with my nearest and dearest. My DDH (dearly departed husband) and I did not buy each other big gifts but instead donated what we would have spent to charities of our choice and simply spent the day alone together. One year we binge-watched all the Star Wars movies. Another year we had a turkey and trimmings picnic on the living room floor, never to be repeated as it proved too much of a temptation for our two dogs. 

Christmases come and Christmases go, and I'm fortunate to celebrate the season with friends who have become as close as family. I'm also now happy to enjoy a gentler side of the season. I don't worry anymore about the commercialism of it all as that's something I have no control over. It's up to each individual how they choose to celebrate, or not, after all. What I like is having come to a place in my life where I am happy to celebrate the joy and peace of the season.

I would like to wish everyone at Books We Love and all our followers a very merry Christmas and a happy, healthy and prosperous New Year. 

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Sharing some Christmas memories from the 1960s by Nancy M Bell

This is a novella of Christmas Eve in a small town peopled by the characters from A Longview Romance series. CLick here for more info. Also available at Amazon.

Yes, I am that old! Growing up in the 1960s was a much simpler time that now. We had only black and white television and one phone in the house. It seems to me looking back that families stayed closer together, not so far flung around the country and the globe. That's not to say that Christmas like all holidays and celebrations didn't sometimes dissolve into family disputes, but generally at least we were all together. My mom's brother and his wife always came for Christmas dinner, my maternal grandparents lived with us and my older sister and her family joined us at the table as well. Our living room was not large, the expanded 'good' table took up most of the floor and to get from end to the other you were required to walk on the couch as there was no room behind the chairs at the table.

Below are some excerpts from a small chapbook I created to help preserve these old family memories for later generations.

This is one of my favourite pictures of my dad. It was taken in 1963 or 1964, you can see the remains of the Christmas feast. I'm guessing we got doctor's kits for one of our presents. LOL

The Rafter Family Christmas Eve was always a variation of the same theme.

My parents would pack up the two youngest children, myself and my sister Wendy, and set off in the car to visit my Dad’s sisters ( my aunts) who lived in various parts of Toronto and the outlying area.
My Aunt Ola and Uncle Bunny lived near Whitevale, Ontario with my cousins Rose and Fred. They lived on a farm and had the most amazing white farmhouse. The floors always were polished to diamond brilliance and I loved their kitchen. Lots of room and tons of windows, it was a wonderful welcoming place. The adults would visit and we would play with Rosie and Freddy our cousins, either outside in the snow or inside on the floor. We would drop off our gifts and receive the ones that went home to go under our tree.

After eating Christmas goodies we would all pile back into the car and head off to the next aunt’s house.

Auntie Joy and Uncle Norm lived in the west end of the city with a house full of our cousins. Glennie was the oldest and then Charlie, Suzanne, Wayne, Billy, Dennis and Brenda. There was always lots to do at Auntie Joy’s, we played games and one year when they lived in Streetsville we played in the ravine near their house and got totally covered in burrs. We were not popular children when we got home. There was great food and the cousins always had the latest in games and toys to play with. We dropped off the presents and packed the ones for us into the car and we were off again.

Next stop Aunt Loral and Uncle Bob and cousins Debbie and Lori. Aunt Loral’s was usually the last stop in the early years.

My Aunt Gloria and Uncle Tommy and Cindy and Tammy Lori lived in Caladar, which was up near North Bay when we were young, we would go and visit them on New Year’s Day every year. Later years they moved to Toronto, not far from Aunt Loral and we stopped there on Christmas Eve as well. Aunt Irma ( who later changed her name legally to Rocky) and Uncle Wally lived near Ottawa and we did not get to see them as often, or our cousins Gary and Scott.
Aunt Loral had a very small house and it always seemed so crammed full of Christmas. The living room was usually quite dark and the tree seemed to fill it up totally. She had the most amazing tree topper that was all the colors of the rainbow and it sent the colors all over the room, reflecting off all the walls and the front room window. As this was our last stop Wendy and I were both tired and didn’t spend too much time actually playing with Debbie and Lori. It was also getting late and near bed time so that Santa could come and leave his gifts for us. There was always time for yet more goodies and more pop. Aunt Loral always had great fruit cake at her house. Dark and moist. She also had a zillion of the little statues that used to come in Red Rose Tea. They were lined up on the top of the door frames in her kitchen and just about anywhere that you looked There were so many of them that I could never actually count them without loosing track. I liked the horse one and the gingerbread man the best. Then it was time to go home. Wendy and I usually fell asleep on the way home to West Hill in the far east end of the city. We lived with my Grandma and Grandpa Pritchard and before 1963 when she got married, my older sister June lived with us as well. There were seven of us in a little house. June had her own room, Grandma and Grandpa shared what would have been the dining room but worked quite well as a bedroom at the front of the house and Wendy and I had bunkbeds in Mom and Dad’s room.

Grandma and Grandpa were always waiting for us when we got home and Christmas Eve and helped to put the presents under the tree.
We always put the tree up on December 20th as that was my birthday. Mom and Dad never wanted to put the tree up earlier than that as we always had a real tree and they worried that it would dry out.
We had these really cool bubble lights that were all different colors but got really hot when you left them on too long. There was a fluffy white angel on top.
One Christmas Eve when we were still outside in the driveway just getting out of the car Wendy and I got a huge surprise. There, coming down the Cooney’s driveway, who were our next door neighbors, was Santa Claus!

We both screamed and then bolted for the back door. If Santa came while were still up and awake he wouldn’t leave us anything. We tore through the back door into the kitchen and down the back hall to the bedroom. With our wet snow boots and coats still on Wendy and I scrambled into bed and pulled the covers over our heads. I had a harder time getting into bed as I had to climb up into the top bunk, but I made it. Mom and Dad came in and tried to get us to take off our coats and boots and change into night clothes. Wendy and I wouldn’t budge, we were pretending to be asleep so that Santa would leave our presents. We were sure that he was coming to our house any moment because we KNEW he just next door and he hadn’t been to our house next. He must have already been to Jo-anne and John Lee’s place because they lived on the other side of the Cooneys, so we had to be next. Mom and Dad must have removed our boots after we were asleep because they were gone in the morning. And Santa did leave our presents for us that year.
Things changed in 1964, June was married and living on Homestead Ave with Butch and my brother Timmy was born in July. So Christmas 1964 was a little different. There was one more of us to track all over the city to visit my aunts.
Sometime in the 1960’s Aunt Gloria and Uncle Tommy and Cindy and TammyLori moved to Toronto. My Grandma and Grandpa Rafter moved from Constance Lake near Ottawa and bought a little store on Davis Lake, near Kinmount. Every winter they would come to Toronto and stay with Aunt Gloria and Uncle Tommy, so now we had even more excitement and visiting on Christmas Eve. We often went to Aunt Gloria and Uncle Tommy’s for New Year’s dinner. The turkey dressing was always yucky, it had so much sage in it ( which Gramma Rafter LOVED) and sometimes sausage. Not my favorite part of the meal I’ll tell you. There was always way too much to eat, tons of turkey and cranberries, mashed potatoes and gravy.

Our Christmas dinner at home was always large. June and Butch and their sons Geoff, Peter and Terry would come. My Aunt Frances and Uncle Jim came on Christmas afternoon early and brought their sausage dog with them. The first dog I remember was Sandy who was quite portly and smelled like DOG. He would bite my dad if he tried to discipline us in front of him. We liked Sandy. Sandy would also dance with us, running around while we pranced around laughing. Aunt Frances always gave us Avon for Christmas and her packages were always decorated with cool stuff. Uncle Jim is my mother’s only brother and he has one daughter Marilyn who lives in the States. There would also be My Gramma and Grampa Pritchard who lived with us, Wendy and me and Timmy. Mom would pull the big table with all the leaves in it out into the middle of our small living room and the table would stretch from the front window to the door to the kitchen. It was set with these cool plates that we only used at Christmas, all pale yellow ,blue and pink around the edges with white roses in the centre. Mom used her good silverware that Dad bought her one year for Christmas and a tablecloth that never seemed to escape the cranberries or the gravy. Our small house was full of the smell of turkey and gravy and boiling potatoes. There never seemed to be enough room but somehow everyone managed to get seated at the table and Dad would carve the turkey. Wendy and I would fight over the drumsticks, although in later times Timmy always got one.


Lots of great memories of those no longer with us, and those who still are. As long as we remember them they are never gone, but live in our hearts.

Here are few memories from later Christmases.

Decorating with Dad by Eileen O'Finlan

Find buy links to this book on my Books We Love author page

This Christmas will mark the twenty-second time we’ve celebrated the holiday since my dad passed away at the age of sixty-six.  My family is big into holidays.  When I was a kid the house was decorated for every one of them, even the minor ones.  Christmas, though, was the ultimate.  No one got more into the decorating than my dad.  He turned our home into Christmas Land, inside and out.

Christmas decorating got underway once we’d returned from Thanksgiving weekend at my grandparents’ home in Bennington, Vermont.  Dad was in a festive mood after several days of feasting and visiting with a houseful of relatives.

First the living room had to be rearranged.  Over the years Dad, an engineer by trade, developed a strategy for furniture placement.  One layout was for Christmas, the other for the rest of the year.  It wasn’t just the furniture, either.  Knick-knacks and whatnots all over the house exchanged living quarters with the Christmas decorations boxed and stored in the basement.

Once the room was rearranged, the tree set securely in its stand and watered (until we switched to artificial trees), the most difficult and least fun part began - stringing the lights and garland.  Extra bulbs were kept on hand since if one went out they all went out. That meant testing every bulb on the string until the culprit was found, replacing it, and hoping that one worked.  Heaven help us if more than one bulb went out at the same time.  Dad wasn’t much for swearing, but those bulbs were almost guaranteed to elicit a few words more colorful than the lights. 

My sister, Cindy, and I endured the interminable wait in order to pounce the moment Dad finished.  It was our job to help hang the tinsel and ornaments.  We delighted at seeing these old friends that had been out-of-sight, out-of-mind for a year, especially the ones that hung on the trees of my mom’s childhood.  My favorite was a set of three delicate, sparkly silver shoes each with a tiny child inside representing Wynken, Blynken, and Nod.  Mom and Dad joined in the tree trimming while we all sang along with the Christmas albums on the record player.

Once the tree was completed, we moved to the rest of the room.  The top of the huge black and white TV was large enough to hold the snow village.  Each house and the church were painted cardboard fitted with a light bulb making their colored cellophane windowpanes glow.  There were decorated pine trees and elves made of pinecones, pipe cleaners and felt.  Flimsy it may have been, but it was cherished.  A tinkerer at heart, Dad kept adding to the village.  A mirror became a skating pond, tiny lamp posts graced the “street”.  The village eventually outgrew the TV top and had to move to a new location.

A gold bell that played Silent Night hung from one doorway, mistletoe from another.  A lighted church sat on the end table on top of sparkly white cotton batting emulating snow and surrounded by Nativity vignettes.  Mr. and Mrs. Claus stood on either side of the fireplace.  The last thing to be displayed was the crèche.  I loved the smell of the papier mache figures and the soft glow from the blue light illuminating Mary’s robe.  In the weeks to come I would spend hours playing with the crèche as if it were a doll house.

Not a room escaped decoration.  Every window had a candle either on the sill or hanging inside a red wreath.  Even the bathroom had a bubble lamp and a candle in the window.

Then came the outside.  A large plastic lantern, later to be replaced by a Santa, brightened the front porch.  Dad strung colored lights along the porch railing and throughout the hedge in front of the house.  After a heavy snowfall red, blue, yellow, green, and purple lights shone through giving the hedge an otherworldly glow.

There was no such thing as too many Christmas decorations as far as Dad was concerned.  Over the years, he made tree ornaments including drums and sleds with each of our names on them.  He outdid himself the year he made a perpetual calendar.  The scene at the top was attached with Velcro and could be changed with the seasons.  Naturally, the Christmas scene was the best.  It was a miniature replica of our living room right down to the same wallpaper and the clock and candlesticks on our fireplace mantel.

 

 

With the decorating complete, our home was transformed.  Every day of the Christmas season I played in the wonderland of my own personal Christmas Village.  Every night glowed with colorful splendor.  The saddest for me was the weekend after New Year’s when everything came down, packed away in the basement, the magic gone, the house returned to normal.  It was like waking up from the best ever dream.

Since Dad’s been gone, I decorate the house.  Though my taste is a bit different from my dad’s, I seem to have inherited his love for holiday decorating. I still move furniture, to give the tree pride of place.  I miss the smell of papier mache from the long lost crèche, my current one being made of sturdier material.  I love to sit in the living room in the evening, gazing at the lights on the tree, the one remaining Wynken, Blynken and Nod ornament always prominent.  I can feel Dad’s presence in the quiet of the evening.  Our styles are very different, but unlike me, he was decorating for kids.  His joy came as much from the glee his efforts brought to us as from his own enjoyment of the holiday.  I think he is smiling with me as I create my grownup version of Christmas Land.  And I’m certain he would appreciate the invention of pre-strung lights on the Christmas tree.

Under the Christmas Tree by J. S. Marlo

J. S. Marlo BWL Author Page

December is my favorite month of the year. I love the decorations, the lights, and mostly the atmosphere. It seems people are friendlier, more helpful. Despite the larger crowds, I enjoy shopping for that perfect gift that will light up someone's eyes.

When my kids were little, I followed my own rule of thumb when it came to Christmas gifts: a pajama, a puzzle, a toy, a stuffy, and a book. They were allowed to open one gift on Christmas Eve: the pajama, which they wore that night. Then on Christmas Day, they either started the book or the puzzle. They are grown up now, but that same rule of thumb now applies to my granddaughter. It wasn't something I'd read somewhere or that was passed down from generations, but then a few weeks back I saw that  post on Facebook.

My curiosity was piqued, so I browsed the Internet to see if I could find out more about this delightful Christmas tradition.

"Jólabókaflóð" or "Yule Book Flood" originated during World War II when foreign imports were restricted, but paper was cheap. Iceland’s population was not large enough to support a year-round publishing industry, so book publishers flooded the market with new titles in the final weeks of the year.

Icelanders open their presents on Christmas Eve, so most of them end the evening by settling down with one of their gifted books. According to Icelandic author Yrsa Sigurðardótti, books remain the number one Christmas present in Iceland and it’s considered a total flop Christmas if you do not get a book.

Fun & interesting facts:

- Iceland publishes more books per capita than any other country

- One in ten Icelanders will publish a book in their lifetime

- In Iceland, the holiday season officially kicks off with the delivery of the Bokatidindi—a catalogue of every new book published in Iceland

 - In 2011, Reykjavík (Iceland's capital) was designated a UNESCO City of Literature

While giving books is not unique to Iceland, the tradition of exchanging books on Christmas Eve and then spending the evening reading is becoming a cultural phenomenon... a relaxing and charming tradition, even more so when it's cold and snowing outside.

So this Christmas Eve, I'm contemplating getting a new book, a box of chocolate, a cup of hot cocoa, and spending the night reading by the fireplace.

Happy Holidays from Canada!

JS

http://www.readitforward.com/essay/article/jolabokaflod-meet-favorite-new-holiday-tradition/ 

https://www.readitforward.com/essay/article/what-jolabokaflod-means-to-me/

 J. S. Marlo's Website

It's Almost Christmas by Nancy M Bell

TO find out more about A Longview Christmas and my other books click on the cover and then scroll down in the website to see the Holiday titles.

Christmas is one of my favourite times of year. I thought I would share some childhood Christmas memories.


The Rafter Family Christmas Eve was always a variation of the same theme.

My parents would pack up the two youngest children, myself and my sister Wendy, and set off in the car to visit my Dad’s sisters ( my aunts) who lived in various parts of Toronto and the outlying area.
My Aunt Ola and Uncle Bunny lived near Whitevale, Ontario with my cousins Rose and Fred. They lived on a farm and had the most amazing white farmhouse. The floors always were polished to diamond brilliance and I loved their kitchen. Lots of room and tons of windows, it was a wonderful welcoming place. The adults would visit and we would play with Rosie and Freddy our cousins, either outside in the snow or inside on the floor. We would drop off our gifts and receive the ones that went home to go under our tree.

After eating Christmas goodies we would all pile back into the car and head off to the next aunt’s house.

Auntie Joy and Uncle Norm lived in the west end of the city with a house full of our cousins. Glennie was the oldest and then Charlie, Suzanne, Wayne, Billy, Dennis and Brenda. There was always lots to do at Auntie Joy’s, we played games and one year when they lived in Streetsville we played in the ravine near their house and got totally covered in burrs. We were not popular children when we got home. There was great food and the cousins always had the latest in games and toys to play with We dropped off the presents and packed the ones for us into the car and we were off again.

Next stop Aunt Loral and Uncle Bob and cousins Debbie and Lori. Aunt Loral’s was usually the last stop in the early years.

My Aunt Gloria and Uncle Tommy and Cindy and Tammy Lori lived in Caladar, which was up near North Bay when we were young, we would go and visit them on New Year’s Day every year. Later years they moved to Toronto, not far from Aunt Loral and we stopped there on Christmas Eve as well. Aunt Irma ( who later changed her name legally to Rocky) and Uncle Wally lived near Ottawa and we did not get to see them as often, or our cousins Gary and Scott.
Aunt Loral had a very small house and it always seemed so crammed full of Christmas. The living room was usually quite dark and the tree seemed to fill it up totally. She had the most amazing tree topper that was all the colors of the rainbow and it sent the colors all over the room, reflecting off all the walls and the front room window. As this was our last stop Wendy and I were both tired and didn’t spend too much time actually playing with Debbie and Lori. It was also getting late and near bed time so that Santa could come and leave his gifts for us. There was always time for yet more goodies and more pop. Aunt Loral always had great fruit cake at her house. Dark and moist. She also had a zillion of the little statues that used to come in Red Rose Tea. They were lined up on the top of the door frames in her kitchen and just about anywhere that you looked We always put the tree up on December 20th as that was my birthday. Mom and Dad never wanted to put the tree up earlier than that as we always had a real tree and they worried that it would dry out.
We had these really cool bubble lights that were all different colors but got really hot when you left them on too long. There was a fluffy white angel on top.
One Christmas Eve when we were still outside in the driveway just getting out of the car Wendy and I got a huge surprise. There, coming down the Cooney’s driveway, who were our next door neighbors, was Santa Claus!

We both screamed and then bolted for the back door. If Santa came while were still up and awake he wouldn’t leave us anything. We tore through the back door into the kitchen and down the back hall to the bedroom. With our wet snow boots and coats still on Wendy and I scrambled into bed and pulled the covers over our heads. I had a harder time getting into bed as I had to climb up into the top bunk, but I made it. Mom and Dad came in and tried to get us to take off our coats and boots and change into night clothes. Wendy and I wouldn’t budge, we were pretending to be asleep so that Santa would leave our presents. We were sure that he was coming to our house any moment because we KNEW he just next door and he hadn’t been to our house next. He must have already been to Jo-anne and John Lee’s place because they lived on the other side of the Cooneys, so we had to be next. Mom and Dad must have removed our boots after we were asleep because they were gone in the morning. And Santa did leave our presents for us that year.