Living in the
moment seems the best fit for me, because my memories seem to be more comprised
of moments than events. Though there are some things I recall
in toto, there
are far more vignettes that comprise my recollections. Maybe I don’t have the
focus or the energy to commit most things to memory. Maybe I simply do not have
the bandwidth for it. Whatever the reason, my life separates into moments where
some remain with me while others join the dinosaurs or the socks that disappear
from the dryer. Taking time to reminisce on Christmases throughout my life, I
do not have full memories in the round, but moments strewn along the path
of my life. Smooth and shiny as river rocks – and I’m good with that.
As a child, my paternal
grandmother (Nanny) would come down from mythical Ridgefield, Connecticut to
visit us. In my youngest of times, she arrived by train. I could not tell you if
the station we picked her up from was in Columbia or Orangeburg or Branchville
or some other town. I don’t remember if the station platform was wood or cement.
I don’t even remember the mighty locomotive or Nanny disembarking from a
passenger car. What sticks in my mind is the image of the rails disappearing in
the distance where the parallel lines merged (obviously Connecticut). The Christmas
gift of this vision was my first glimpse of infinity. Not bad.
Christmas with
Nanny was filled with recollections of her taking her grandchildren to Eckerd’s
Drug Store at the Orangeburg Mall for lunch at their lunch counter where every
year, the waitresses were excited to see her. Of course, there also are the moments that
exist within me of Nanny’s bad driving (the stuff of legends), of her lovingly
saying to me in Arabic Ya Habibi, and her occasional expression of amazement
with her wrinkled hand pressed to her forehead as she would moan “Sheesh ohboy!”
The thing I remember most from these many Christmas visits was joining my
siblings around the tree one Christmas morning with Nanny telling us that a
noise had awakened her in the middle of the night. She got up to check on the
cause of the sound to find Santa with his back to her putting presents under
the tree. I can picture her in her flannel nightgown quietly scurrying back to
her bed, because magic is a fragile thing.
Most of the
other Christmases of my childhood come as images of me crawling stealthily beneath
the tree and opening a seam or corner of gift wrap on my presents to see what I
would be receiving. This never spoiled my Christmas morning. It simply changed
the excitement of the unknown to the excitement of expectation. The joy of finally
stripping the wrapping paper from a football helmet or Coleco hockey game that
I couldn’t wait to play with. I am not ashamed to note that this excitement did
not extend to the packages bearing shirts and sweaters.
Beyond that my
snippets of South Carolina Christmases are mostly glimpses of a tree, an ornament,
a smile. One thing that was universal to every Christmas in the Handal household
was my mom’s dogged efforts to ensure she spent the same amount on each child
for the under-the-tree presents, and carefully planning for the same number of
knick-knacks for each child’s stockings. This latter habit brought to me my biggest
Christmas smile one year when I was back from Clemson for the holidays. As was the
tradition, when we kids got up Christmas morning our stockings were the first
thing we went for. Never knowing what to expect. This time when I emptied out the
lumpy red velvet boot, out popped a magazine, some baseball cards, maybe a
yo-yo, and a can of tuna. Grinning I turned to mom as she explained with more
than a little undeserved embarrassment that she had miscounted my share of stocking
stuffers and needed to add one more item to even things out.
As an adult,
the memory of any Christmas day is murky at best. This surprises me because I
would think that especially the addition of Jean-Marie and the kids to my life
would place most Christmases complete in my heart. But it is the spirit of the
day that persists, the happiness, the chaos, the grazing on cookies and
leftovers from the Christmas dinner. The larger memories for me with my wife
and children are the whole of the season where I see Christmas parties that
filled the house, and I am once again scouring the city with Jean-Marie to find
those things we think the kids will love, driving around to see all the
neighborhood Christmas displays that delighted us so, and the taking of turns
on the phone talking to in-laws and out-laws, siblings and friends.
It is all of
these moments of Christmas that scatter before me each year. They are not pieces
that when rearranged complete a puzzle. They are snow globes, one scene in each.
And as I pick up ones at random, I give each a shake, place them before
the light and see what arises as the white flakes settle and the water clears.
I get new snow globes every year. I have quite a wonderful collection.
Merry
Christmas
