Season of Light
By Linda Villatore
Before dawn, I peeked out my bedroom window. All was still.
A sanctifying snow had fallen overnight, blessing the trees, muffling all sound. On that cold Christmas morning, the air was clean, even and calm.
The oddest thing was the light. The trees and misty sky were blurred in powdery blue… everything outside was resting, effervescent and blue.
I opened my eyes wide to a surprising peace, wondering at this blue. I woke my little sister so she could look out with me.
The tranquility was almost blue enough to quell her Christmas excitement. Not quite. Urgent to unwrap presents downstairs, she tugged at my sleeve. “Let’s see what’s under the tree!”
Down we went.
As I had wished, Santa left a heavy box for me. Ice skates!
In the winters of my childhood, amidst the wooded lakes of New York State the trees lost their leaves. I could pull ice spears off the trees. They looked dead against the sky. The earth chilled. The ground and lakes chilled, then froze solid and hard. The slant of light changed. The weakened sun had almost abandoned us and the terrible ice queen reigned with her cold bitter heart.
Under this white shield, my childhood memory is rooted in the culture of the north. I remember how the frozen ice on Sparkle Lake felt under the blades of my skates.
As a child, in New York, I felt seasons change. I looked up, concerned, at the diminished sky, the feeble sun. Why does sunlight grow weak… still…why does it snow in winter? why do we have seasons of light in the north.
At Christmas, what else are we praising with a tree full of lights? Is it the ancient hope of renewal, of the sun’s return?
The music and stories of my childhood Christmas brought comfort to my winters in the north. That happiness of lights on an evergreen tree, snow, and ice skating formed this as a time of goodwill, inwardness, and gifting. It was easy to celebrate these.
With our rituals, we pray that the sun will return to its full power, and bring back light to the world. Then, only then, will that light have strength to melt the snow, thaw the hard ground, raise the grass underneath, and hatch the bugs and flower the wheat. Sheep and birds can be born and will have food to eat. We pray that the trees will leaf again. For now, life appears dead. It is winter north of the equator. The question is an old one. Our oldest answers contained magic. The actual cause is a strange one. You wouldn’t guess it.
We keep investigating our situation. Five hundred years ago, it was a struggle to figure this out. We discover that we are flinging through space, around a hot star. Imagine that!
Knowledge, in that past could cost you your life. It needed a telescope to prove. The idea that the earth went around the sun took 100 years to accept. But after that, we learned even more…that our planet is tipped over a bit. It travels around its heat source at an angle. Earth is not straight up facing the sun. It’s tilted. It’s cockeyed. Because of that tilt, we have seasons. In New York State, the temperature varies 100 degrees Fahrenheit between winter and summer, there are seasons of light.
That early Christmas morning, peering out my window at the wintry scene, I didn’t know then, that I was living nearer the top of our tipped over planet. So, being north, in New York State, in my house, and I peered out the window, I was leaning away from the sun, getting less heat. There you have it.
I want to return to my ice skates…
Ice grows towards the center of a lake. It is not flat. When it’s cold enough to start freezing, the surface water grows still. It freezes unevenly, in chunks which link up.
The edges around the shoreline freeze first. As cold deepens, the center begins to slush up. Winter winds move the waves around out there, so the center hardens last. Lake ice makes noise. It moans creaks and cracks. It has bubbles of air in it. It moves, in cycles, thawing, now refreezing, thawing again, until it stays frozen day and night in the grip of deepest winter.
The surface ice finally closes over and covers the fish. Most fish will survive the winter this way because the water below is warmer than outside, or on the land. The fish swim around down there under the ice. They keep eating. They do just fine.
But up top you know the ice queen has you.
Lake ice is bumpy and has ridges and bubbles in it. You scrape over these, or carve around them when you skate. Lake ice is silvery grey with white seams which crack and shear down into the depths. Who knows how deep these seams are? They run off in every direction. The submerged air bubbles offer some clue to the depth of the ice. You learn to read these carefully.
The center of the lake is the thinnest ice. You have to watch out. You can fall in.
Ice skating on a lake is more difficult than ice skating on a rink. I was never very good at it, but enjoyed being out there clacking along, blades against the hard surface on a cold bright day, sweating, and puffing steam.
One typically bitter-cold day out on the ice, I saw my friend Karen Gordon’s mom had built a fire on the far shore. I had to skate over there, almost a mile. Clever mother that she was, she somehow had produced hot cocoa. She had imagined in advance the pleasure this would give my cold nose that day. I took off my mittens and warmed my hands and face over her fire, and sipped cocoa in a hot mug. The sun would get dimmer. It would get colder. I had to start back. Fortified by the hot sugary treat, I looked over the span of ice to the far shore, and knew I could make it back.
Linda Villatore
Christmas Time
Carol Johnson
CHRISTMAS TREE
WITH CHARACTER
By Pat Biasotti
Decorator Christmas trees covered with velvet bows and crystal balls may be tres chic, but a colorful tree festooned with Pac-Man, Mickey Mouse, Marvin, and the Cookie Monster once fascinated kids of all ages.
Many years ago, Mary S. created such a holiday surprise for two small grandchildren. When they arrived at grandmother’s house, they laughed, seeing the tiny tree decorated with six Disney ornaments from the Sears catalog. “Micky Mousie! Micky Mousie!” grandson Keith squealed, jumping up and down.
From that foot-high tree in a basement playroom, through the years, that tree grew to an oversized twelve feet, decorated with over two hundred character ornaments. Captivated children and adults alike clustered around it to identify ornaments like Jack Frost, the Little Drummer Boy, Jack in the Beanstalk, or the Frog Prince.
However, the real fun was the collecting. Mary used family vacation trips to seek all-year Christmas shops in different cities. Friends also got into the act. One sent Humpty Dumpty from Victoria, Canada. A house guest from Mobile, Alabama, brought with her Santa’s nine reindeer (yes, Rudolph makes nine).
Completing a particular set—she looked for years to find a Goldilocks to join the Three Bears—often became a treasure hunt. Marjorie Goyner, of “Dorothea’s, in Folsom, California (the first West Coast all-year Christmas shop) explained, “Few companies make storybook ornaments, bringing out maybe one new series each holiday season, and available only a year or two. Consequently, they become rare, more valuable with time, and prized collector’s items.”
In time, Mary’s August birthday began to look like Christmas. Her husband, previously very indifferent about her hobby, surprised her one birthday with a meticulously hand-crafted Scrooge with a long flowing beard, white nightcap, and ruby-red velvet dressing gown. Also nestled in the box was Bob Cratchett in top hat, wool overcoat, and with Tiny Tim perched on his shoulder.
However, Mary had her Santa’s helpers. She would beg people leaving on vacation trips, “Please look for Popeye while you’re in Boston. Olive Oyle and Wimpy have spent years alone on the tree.” Friends searched and searched before someone triumphantly pounced on a Popeye in Folsom (practically in Mary’s backyard).
Mary’s treasure hunt continued for thirty years or more, until her death, but her hobby leaves precious memories and heirlooms for her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. Grandson Keith grew up many years ago, and now “Micky Mousie” occupies the place of honor on his own family’s Christmas tree.
…………………………….
Pat Biasotti
Lighting The Tree in Tennessee
By Marie McClure
For over a week, we’d been talking about seeing them light our town’s Christmas Tree. We ( my family of four children and my sister’s family of four children ) were all very excited.
The day finally came and we all bundled up for an exciting evening outside to see them light the tree.
The streets were lined with people from all around the area. Everyone was in a happy mood laughing and talking to each other even though we were strangers.
It was time. Everyone got quiet.
Then it happened. The tree came alive with lights. Everyone clapped and yelled “Merry Christmas.”
That is, except my sons. They were quiet. Truely a look of disappointment on their faces.
We looked at them and asked, “What’s the matter?”
The middle son spoke up and said, ” I thought they were going to set it on fire.”
A true story we still laugh about. These boys are now great grandparents.