The Memory of Christmas Past

The Memory of Christmas Past
By Beach T. Weston
“Just Beachie Column”
(2-minute Read)

I was ten years old and with great anticipation, unwrapped Christmas ornaments from boxes that littered the living room floor. The room’s brick hearth safely held calming flames—its glow danced off the assorted festive decor awaiting, once again, to be returned to their yearly place of pride.

Our Christmas tree was tall, and fury, and beautifully covered in white lights. I gave the tree a gentle touch and a light sniff so as not to disturb its perfection. The aroma was delightful—it made me happy and reminded me of holding my Mother’s hand—walking along the trails around Lake Tahoe, where the smell of fresh Pine Needles and Pine Cones rhythmically beguiled a sense of pleasure…of peace.

As I playfully examined the ornaments, Mom continued our Christmas tradition and handed me a child’s Santa Claus mug full of hot chocolate. Mini marshmallows bobbed atop the warm cocoa just waiting to give my palette a giggle.

With great care, I gripped the Santa Claus mug and contemplated which box to open next. And as if by telepathy, the next box I opened was the magical box. Inside the box, carefully wrapped were the dearest of ornaments: Twelve Orange Peacocks the size of small snowballs—each adorned by tiny pearls and fancy feathers. Skillfully wrapped aside the Peacocks were twelve diamond shaped mirrors—a bit smaller than the Peacocks—each attached to gold thread. It was a joyous moment…we had found our favorite ornaments.

Bing sang White Christmas, giving us inspiration to strategically hang the orange birds and mirrors. Their reflection sparkled from the Christmas lights and made a dazzling show for the eye. The Christmas tree was complete. Our living room was transformed into a land of Christmas enchantment.

Mom stood behind me and wrapped her arms around my shoulders as we admired our magnificent creation. It was a Silent Night moment, and all was calm. And then Mom repeated the words she said every Christmas after the final ornament was placed—

“This is the prettiest Christmas tree we’ve ever had.”

I was blessed to have eight more merry Christmases before Mom passed. The ornaments once held in reverence are gone, yet safely kept in memory. The love I have for Christmas will forever be, like the orange Peacocks, precious ornaments hung carefully in my heart.

Are Christmas memories important? I say, yes!

If you have great Christmas memories, cherish them. If you don’t…create them. And keep on creating them.

Let us treasure the excitement of exploring Christmas boxes, decorating trees, drinking hot chocolate, ice skating, Christmas caroling, building a snowman with a top hat and carrot nose—and most of all, love shared. May it be forever part of your Christmas.

In Peace, Love, and a very Merry Christmas

P.S. If you don’t celebrate Christmas, may the holiday you do celebrate be filled with wonderful memories. 

 Click here to read my favorite Gifts from the Heart 

© Beach T. Weston 2018

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