“Where Christmas Lives”

By R. B. STUART
Part Eighteen
[Woodstock, N.Y. Christmas 2006: Bella cozy by fire]

Recently I spoke to the woman who cuts my hair about Christmas. She has three young children under 9 years of age and told me they're each allowed ten gifts a piece. "TEN!" I exclaimed, "Isn't that a lot?" She thought it was a fair amount to show her children how much she loved and cared for them.

While driving in N.H. I was listening to WZID radio station. The DJ spoke about the delight she felt while watching a father walk his three toddlers through the Mall of NH. Their sparkling young eyes attempting to devour everything in sight. The colorful world of plastic toys enthralling them like the Kiddie Menu at McDonalds. Wanting everything they see---but after giving it to them---not wanting it at all.

What their eager hearts and captivating eyes pretend to ferociously desire---is in fact a misrepresentation of their actual needs. Their unquenchable appetite wasn't for toys after all. It was for the warm, loving and adoring eyes of their mother---the strong but gentle approving hand of their father. That is what evolves their little world of love; a commodity readily available, but sometimes forgotten.

During their childhood an adult recalls the festively wrapped gifts stacked under a fra- grant, meticulously decorated, prickly green tree. But only one toy, if any at all, remains tucked away in your mind. None---in the confines of your heart. Within those walls reside the spirit of love and sentimental memory, made from the threads only a human connection can bring.

The simple yet all consuming love bond between a parent and child---is forever held, within the Spirit of Christmas past and present for no cost at all. And its wrapping isn't one of paper; it's of a warm embrace, a sweet kiss on the cheek, a tender glance, a hand swept across your mane, a joyous laugh pealing from your loved one's lips. Right now no one understands that more than the 8,000 disjointed families that have had to let go of their loved ones for a 6 month deployment to Iraq---to fight in a misguided war. And to those especially, who have lost their beloved beauties---much too soon---to the blue heavens above.

Those are non-tangible things impossible to grasp---like a perfect white sliver of snow floating aimlessly from the sky, evaporating from the lash of your eye. Or the initial waft of a freshly cut Blue Spruce Christmas tree catapulting you to drink it, with a slow deep breath. And the warm excitement fluttering within when we go home for the holidays, when we open the front door to see our beloved mothers face aglow. That is what weaves our Spirits together---that's where Christmas lives---wrapped in the packaging of our heart.


Copyright December 2004, R. B. STUART. All Rights Reserved. No Reproduction of this Blog in any form.