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La Belle Rouge Poetess Of The Heart

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Christmas Past
by La Belle Rouge Poetess Of The Heart
Monday, November 27, 2023

Rated "G" by the Author.

       
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     So many years between then and now.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I sit by the fire at twilight beside the one I love. My sweet Poodle lays at my feet, asleep as usual. We are getting old, the three of us, impromptu naps are allowed and expected. The Christmas tree is decorated and lit early in the season so we can enjoy it longer. Its lights twinkle. Carols play in the background and remind me of Christmas past.

 

How beautiful those memories of childhood, of customs old, of faces and voices only experienced in memory now. They have been gone, some of them for decades, some of them in recent years but gone are most of them and I will soon follow.

 

Memories of my parents, who definitely knew how to keep Christmas. My mama with her food splashed apron. My daddy with rosy face from secretly-spiked eggnog. A craftsman cottage decorated with a live cedar tree, boughs of holly and pine and bundles of mistletoe in all the doorways where loved ones often shared a kiss on lips or cheek, depending on their familial connection. The warmth of the yule fire. I remember stomping through the woods in boots with my daddy to cut the Christmas tree and watching him shoot balls of mistletoe from heights of old oak trees. mama and I would cut the evergreen decorations from pines and hollies in the woods. Some were left green, others placed in washtubs and dyed silver and gold. We bought very few decorations, mostly just lights for the tree and the windows. The lights would get hot enough to burn up the tree and your house so you didn't dare leave them on when you weren't home to watch them. Oh how I loved the holidays in my parents house. There was peace, joy and always there was love.

 

I had only one older sister but both my parents came from large families. At Christmas the house was full of aunts, uncles and cousins. What a treat to have my cousins to play with. I loved them all like siblings. We would have fruit and candy to eat, sometimes as much as we wanted. There was tinsel we made halos of and sparkler sticks we all got to hold and pretend that we were Christmas angels.

 

There was a feast on Christmas Eve and one on Christmas Day. Everyone brought food and my mama had been cooking for hours. Turkey, ham and all the fixings. Several kinds of pies and chocolate fudge. We would sit down and eat together. Grace was always said and I never remember any drama or harsh words said over the table. It was a time of peace and all we children felt secure in our family and loved for who we were. On Christmas Eve my daddy would open the Bible and read the old nativity story. There was never any doubt in my mind about the true meaning of the season.

 

There was no hate, division or lawsuits over religion or the method of celebration. There were always two Christmas plays, one at the church and one at our elementary school. Every child in school who wanted to participate got to take part in the play. In both plays I was always the angel who brought tidings to the shepherds. I can still recite that scripture perfectly. That was as near to being an angel as I've ever been or will be. What happy times, sacred times those were. There was always a huge evergreen in our little town square. The men of the community got out their ladders and strung the lights, hung the ornaments. After the Christmas play we would stand around that beautiful, lighted tree, join hands and sing the old carols. Aft1erwards, bags of food would be delivered to the elderly and the poor. It was a blessed time. Even today, so many years between then and now, my eyes fill with tears when I hear the old carols. Sometimes we even had a white Christmas. I live in the deep South now, I miss the snow so much. Memories of my baby boys, memories of their growing up years. How I miss my children and their children. Oh Lord, you know.

 

So long ago, so far away, those old fashioned Christmases and yet they are as close as the memories and love I hold in my heart. In memories I see and smell the essence of Christmas past. I can see every face, hear every voice, feel their arms around me and the warmth of kisses beneath the mistletoe. Thank you Lord Jesus for every memory, both joyful and sad, you have been with me through them all.

 

Merry Christmas to All. May you be blessed with memories of Christmases past and new memories of Christmas present. 

 

 

 

 

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Reviewed by E Phillips 12/11/2023
What a story told with words, and flair, and simplicity as only the Poetess of the Heart can do. I remember but one, at age 4, that I cling to despite my falling brain cells that I won't let overtake my tenacity to hold them at bay. Yours are beautiful remembrances, told with the skill of a magician, and with a heart large enough to fill a thousand sets of memory banks.
Reviewed by Richard Cederberg 11/28/2023
The One true source from which all wisdom grace love hope, and our salvation flows. "Thank you, Lord Jesus" Amen. We miss our children and grandchildren too. Enjoyed your story, Susan. Touched me. Have a blessed Christmas. r
Reviewed by JoAnne Cromp 11/27/2023
These are beautiful memories I'm sure you'll always carry deep inside that heart of yours and they are truly stunningly gorgeous. I wish you, your honey and animals a wonderful Christmas and happy 2024 Susan..
~ D

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