I wrote this true story in December 2018 and only a small handful of people read it. In December 2021 I redid it into a poem. I wish you to know I’m very happy you came to visit me today, but I’d love for you to read the more recent version. Thanks for the visit and please, continue browsing.
No one was allowed in Grandma’s attic. “Bats and rodents live up there,” Mother cautioned.
“Then, why do you keep all those boxes up there?” I’d ask.
“We have nowhere else to store them,” Mother explained.
That worried me. All the months those ornaments and White-Christmas treasures lay prey to bats and rodents was too much for me to bear. So in the middle of November, when Father enticed us with a guided trip up to the attic to retrieve those boxes, my little sisters and I happily obliged. Wearing our brave faces as armor, our eyes scoured the room for bats and mice, we saw none. But the longer we lingered in Grandma’s attic, the more the colonial window-blinds rattled; the more the wind whistled through cracks in the walls.
I heard and felt a snowstorm from up there in that attic that I honestly dreamt of owning a coat. Amused at the buffoonery of my thoughts, I smiled to myself.
We weathered the attic and brought down Christmas and, with nostrils flared and eyes aglow, paraded with our boxes into the living room. “No, no, “ sang Mother, “those boxes need to sit on the porch for a few days… to get fresh air and plenty of sunlight.”
But when we lingered, curious and ready to unpack, “No peeking,” she warned with a stern finger, “we mustn’t disturb the mice; let them find their way out. Let’s give them a couple of days.” Amused at Mom’s jest, I smiled despite myself. And so, from the moldy cardboard boxes, my sisters and I imagined a White Christmas.
…
In our house, it was Father who was in charge of putting up the big Christmas tree, and on the first day of December, the display-window in his shop heralded in the Christmas spirit of the town. Humble though it was, we delighted when everyone came by to admire the winter wonderland Father created.
Balls of cotton were elongated and patted flat to imitate snow. Wire-hangers were bent into shapes of candy canes, stars, candles, and snowflakes and wrapped with crepe-paper in jolly Christmas colors. Mother crocheted lovely pieces she copied from her Good-Housekeeping magazines, and every year, those garnered much of the praise.
A plastic snowman, surrounded by glittered snowflakes that hung from the ceiling, was made to stand in one corner of the showcase window. And on the opposite end, the jolliest of Santa Clauses, whose tummy really seemed to be moving, stood laughing.
Little toy-drums and trumpets, airplanes and ribbons and dolls, rocking-horses and rifles and books, Victorian Christmas Cards, fake holly, and painted pine cones, robins, white doves, talismans, and toys covered the expanse between the two plastic holiday-figures. And in the middle of it all stood the tallest Christmas tree with dangling ornaments and a string of lights. The lights blinked rhythmically to a Christmas medley that came from a box attached to them.
It never snowed on Christmas, or ever, in my town but standing in front of Father’s window-display, I was transported to a wonderland where a nice warm coat was all I really wanted to own at Christmastime.
“Everyone in the world should have a trench coat,
and there should be a trench coat for everyone in the world.
It does not matter your age; it doesn’t matter your gender.”
~ Angela Ahrendts
BrainyQuotes.com
Aww, the sheer folly of a child.
…
But in our sleeping quarters and the rest of the house
the brand new curtains and Christmas cleaning,
the present wrapping and decorating,
the advent calendar and Christmas baking,
the greeting cards and celebrating,
the Santa letters and Christmas stockings,
the record player and Christmas music,
poinsettias on doilies, kugels, and Dresdens,
the nativity with the boy-child,
and the angel atop the table Christmas tree —
these were the things that set our hearts ablaze with joy.
These things I remember well… Father brought us white Christmases to revel and to boast, and Mother brought us Christmases to last forever. What were your childhood Christmases like?
Card-Image credits: Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay
Coat-Image credits: Image by Jill Wellington from Pixabay
THANKS FOR READING.
MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE.
I Wish You Miracles.
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Love this story you share of what made Christmas a sheer joy for you! When you wrote about nobody going in your Grandma’s attic made me think of my Grandmother’s tiny unfinished basement with the door opening from the floor! It had a padlock on it because she said nobody could go down there as she believed there were mice and bats.
This story triggered memories surrounding time in the small town at Grandma’s house. The things that sparked Christmas joy… making decorations, gifts, and festive foods for the holidays! Living in Canada I’ve enjoyed many white Christmas seasons with everything adorned with white snow and Christmas lights illuminating colors in the snow. I love Christmas! Wishing you a wonderfully blessed and beautiful Christmas this year!
Hello Cori. So glad this one brought back memories of Grandma for you. Isn’t Christmas fun! And we get to celebrate the season for an entire month. I love it. I’ve seen REAL white Christmases and own the appropriate coat or two, but the memory of what it WAS LIKE/MUST HAVE BEEN LIKE was precious to me those growing up years. Thanks for visiting my website. oxox Selma.
I just read this on Christmas morning, so fitting. I could imagine the characters and their quest to the attic. It was great to read a short story with a poetic flow. Keep up the great work. I have teuely enjoyed all of your writing, you have a certain flare with words. I am hoping to become inspired by you.
Hello Monico. ?? I’m dancing with joy here because you came to read and found something to like. I hope to be able to inspire you somehow, but for sure you’ll need to keep coming by to read. I loved finding you came this time. Thank you. oxox, Selma.
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I wish you miracles today and at Christmas! Thank you for sharing! ❤️❤️
Gosh. Somethings still work …
When I redo an old post I tend to return the original to draft and delete.
But when you do that the link lingers on the web.
A dead link, though.
Someone recently told me not to do that. It discourages people from coming to my website.
So, that’s how this and other posts with old published dates resurfaced. This one, 2018.
Only I didn’t think they’d be sent out as if new. Oh my. That’s what I mean, Somethings still work. Thanks for reading Ruth. And commenting. xoxo