Recollections of Christmases Past

"Christmases can be stressful, but the memories are good--well, mostly." That's how one woman--Beth is her name--remembers the holidays. Read her full account below.

In the week before Christmas, people stress out. They practice deep breathing but still lose patience--and the bag with the scotch tape.

People drive a mile for mall parking, only to squeeze into a narrow, motorcycle-sized space. Will the car door scrape the one next to it? The clink of metal on metal says yes.

In the days before Christmas, the wreath on the door sags, and the tree gets tired of standing at attention over the gifts. It shifts to one side, resting its weight on a fir foot.

The stockings aren't hung by the chimney with care anymore, the way they were when children emptied them. They drape the coffee table, empty and worn.

By Christmas morning, we'll put on the old familiar tunes, open the presents, sweep up the tree droppings, and put away the leftovers.

We'll read over the cards again and wonder about those we didn't hear from this year. At a certain age, we worry about the writers, those who've been loyal for decades. We have pictures of their children, who now have children of their own.

We have decades of long-distance connections made possible by the U.S. mail and Hallmark.

And when the day is over, what will stick with us, aside from the five additional pounds around our middle? Once Christmas present becomes Christmas past, we look back and remember the holidays that are chronicled in photo albums, on video cameras, and now, on smart phones.

I remember a Christmas when everyone got the flu, including out-of-town guests, but not at the same time. The caregivers eventually swapped places with the patients, so there was always somebody available to wash towels and serve soup and bathe fevered brows. The rule was that two people had to be on duty at the same time. We muddled through it.

I remember a Christmas caroling party a neighbor used to have. Guests drank mulled wine and sang carols, even the ones who thought Christmas was a commercial ripoff. The more they drank, the louder they sang, which is the way with these things.

I remember years of standing in line at toy stores, so I could get the gift at the top of my children's list--some with flashing gizmos, or a game that all the kids wanted, or some doll that cried or drank a bottle or wet herself (and why is that fun?).

A few months after Christmas, the doll lay crying on the rug in the den, and nobody paid her any attention. The Christmas bikes leaned against the side of the house, like tired horses waiting for a rider.

I remember my son in the church Christmas play, his scuffed Nikes sticking out from his long shepherd's robe. I remember my grandchild 20 years later, wearing a wooly lamb suit and wagging her sheep tail down the same church aisle.

And I remember a visit to a children's shelter one Christmas Eve, where the staff stayed ready in case a family might be brought in from the cold, suffering from poverty, neglect or harm. I remember the people waiting quietly through the night. I left that place knowing that was the whole point of the holiday.