Fifty some years later, my feet have high arches and I have nearly enough Christmas ornaments to deck the Rockefeller Center tree.
As a kid, Christmas was the closest thing to heaven I knew. The world glimmered. Our house was filled with beautiful music and decorations and Mom-made sweets. Oh, how I scarffed her almond-ball cookies covered with colored sugar.
When Christmas finally came, my heart’s desires -- discovered in the Sears Wish Book catalogue --were stacked under the tree with crinkled-ribbon bows on top. And I was surrounded by relatives who loved me with an unconditional love.
Say what you will about the excesses and commercialism of Christmas. I won’t argue with you. But beyond it all, the remnants of a simple childhood joy still flicker when I see the glow and sparkle of Christmas lights.
Of course, I long ago realized the absurdity of trying to capture the real Joy of Christmas by collecting Christmas decorations. But when Christmas came around, I’d still deck the halls inside and out as if I had drunk too much eggnog. What the heck, I’d say. It was something I enjoyed. It wasn’t like I was trying to out do Martha Stewart, and I wasn’t crazy like Chevy Chase in Christmas Vacation.
One Christmas about five years ago, however, the glittering slope got slippery. It started out as innocent as the first snowflake of winter. I had a peaceful vision for decorating my front yard. I’d make a pond by laying blue lights on the ground, and then I’d gather a herd of those animated wire deer with clear mini lights. They’d glow as they drank and frolicked by the pond.
Alas, other deer hunters had bagged them weeks before Christmas. I drove from store to store, returning a couple of times to each, hoping new shipments would come. But they didn’t. My obsession consumed hours of what little spare time I had.
I thought it was a near miracle when I finally found a pair of deer in a Lowes store. They were expensive -- $160. But I didn’t hesitate. I piled them into a shopping cart, which wobbled as I merrily pushed them to the checkout.
The chatty checker was a nice young woman, who somehow read me like Dickens’ Ghost of Christmas Present. When she saw the total rung up on her register, she said “Wow, I hope you spend this much on presents.” Her words beamed through my Christmas fog, and I wobbled with the cart to my car.
In fate's perfect way, the head of one of the deer didn’t fit, so I returned them both to Lowes. The message couldn’t have been clearer if it had been chiseled on stone and dropped in my lap. I should give the money to people who could really use it.
Since then, I’ve gone out Christmas Eve to some of the poorer parts of town and given away envelopes of my “decorating” money to people I meet, like a young couple washing their clothes at a Laundromat, a grandmother in a wheelchair pushed by her grandson shopping for Christmas presents in a Salvation Army Store, and an elderly gentleman shopping for one in a rundown grocery store.
The glow from these decorations is brighter than any string of Christmas lights ever made. And it lingers warm like flannel around my heart well after the Christmas dishes have been cleared and I’ve wished my family a final “Merry Christmas” and “good night.”
If only more people could do the same. Think about it. In 2005, about $8.5 billion was spent on Christmas decorations in the U.S. Imagine how much brighter the world would be if we gave this much extra to the homeless, hungry and those in need at Christmas.
I confess I still enjoy decorating my house for Christmas, and I bought some LED lights this year. Hey, the Bible says you shouldn’t put your candle under a basket. And I’m saving energy . . . .
OK, maybe I’m backsliding. This thought came to me in the mail yesterday. I got a $40 speeding camera ticket the day I rushed to find a bigger Christmas tree. You can bet I’ll put all the more in the Christmas Eve envelopes. I don’t want to miss Christmas this year.
