Above, a Florida version of Christmas, when we lived near the Intracoastal and had a boat at our dock. Although no longer in boating and no longer living on the water, we remain in Florida but it has made little difference in my attitude that the Florida version is still a humbug!
Christmas was part of my upbringing in NYC. When we were married, Ann carried on a tradition which was not her own, the best Christmas hostess ever! It was never a real religious holiday for me.
And when we raised our family of two boys in Connecticut, we tried to make the holiday a special moment in their lives as well. Alas, with our aging and their leaving to pursue their own lives, we no longer put up a tree or do anything more than visit friends who still carry on the tradition.
Also, at this point in our lives, we are on the agnostic/atheism spectrum. I never criticize believers, as I, in return, do not expect them to proselytize. In our country today, though, the Christian right has been given permission to run amok, which has resulted in a severe case of Christougenniatikophobia for us.
Nonetheless, the Christmases of my past loom in memory.
One of my earliest was when I was maybe six or seven. My father had returned from WW II and had bought a small house in south Richmond Hill, Queens—two stories—and I had my own small bedroom adjacent to the home's one bathroom at the top of the stairs.
It was Christmas Eve, and I later learned that a neighbor traditionally dressed up as Santa Claus and made the rounds in the neighborhood to wish everyone good cheer and to take a nip of any eggnog or other libation that might be served at that particular household. Although it was late at night when he visited, I was still awake in anticipation of Christmas morning. Suddenly I heard the doorbell and then a bellowing "Ho-ho!" and I ran to the top of the stairs to peek and was stunned to not only see Santa Claus but realize he saw me! I stepped back into the shadows and heard him say, "Is that you, Bobby? Good boys should be asleep by now!" I was nonplussed. Did that mean I wouldn't get any presents? So I answered, "No, it's not Bobby," running back into my bedroom and quietly closing the door.
I guess that night I struggled over my stupidity, but at the time, maybe I just hoped he took whomever answered at his word. Silly, I know, but remembered.
Better remembrances were of our adult lives, raising our kids in Connecticut. One tradition was to go to a Christmas tree farm, ride in a horse-drawn wagon, and cut our own tree. But I'll mark the holiday with this brief entry without venturing further into memory, other than posting some photos, including a video.
The above was our family Christmas portrait in 1977.
I loved the snow when it first began to fall, and although this is not a Christmas snow photo, it was one of those winters where we had a lot.
Early Christmas morning, the kids up before Mom, anticipating the day. I had bought a train set the year before and each Christmas set it up during the holiday.
Finally, Christmas meant music, a time when I would play those songs on the piano, at home and at our yearly office Christmas party. My favorite Christmas song is "I'll Be Home for Christmas." I explained the reason why in an article I wrote seven years ago, "If Only in My Dreams."
Although I embed a video of playing that song in my entry, it is best listened to on YouTube at this link
And so to all a good night!
