R is for: Remember what the season means to you
"I heard the bells on Christmas Day Their old, familiar carols play, And wild and sweet The words repeat Of peace on earth, good-will to men!" ~Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Crazed. And confused. I pulled out a credit card on the third floor of the Nike store. Towering above me were larger than life size images of Maria Sharapova, Roger Federer and Tiger. I smiled timidly to the woman behind the cash register as I handed it to her. “I don’t even know what I’ve bought any more.”
There’s a point in every Christmas season when the fog begins to set it. Like a blanket thrown over me, I become disoriented, unable to find my bearings. The ingredients of dozens of Christmas cookie recipes start to run together, tinsel begins to appear in places that tinsel has no business being, and I wake up in a cold sweat at 2:45 a.m., sure that I’ve forgotten something, if only I could remember what.
“You know,” I said to the kind clerk at the Safeway check out, “Christmas would be a lot better if we didn’t have to actually buy anything.”
Probably not what Madison Avenue had in mind.
What does Christmas mean to you? Is it shopping and beautifully wrapped presents beneath the tree? Is it family and friends gathering around the table, sharing meals and memories and laughter? Is it attending midnight mass or singing Christmas carols through the neighborhood, sipping spiced cider? Is it reaching out to others; filling a wish from the local giving tree and or serving the holiday meal to those who have less?
What is Christmas like for the homeless? What do they dream about? How do they prepare for this season of plenty? And what does home for the holidays mean to them?
You may be surprised.
“You have to if you want to be Santa’s helper.”
“I can’t,” she cried. “You’ve got to help me carry it!”
And so I did, with Michele on my lap and two pillow cases full of prizes for strangers who didn’t have the luxury of being able to spend their special day with family.
First stop, the fire station. We pulled up and I put the beard on Michelle’s face She half carried, half pulled the pillowcase to the door. I rang the bell and stood aside so that the first sight would be my little munchkin, staring up at them. The door opened.
“Ho, ho, ho. Merry Christmas,” she squeaked.
The man at the door burst out laughing and called to his buddies inside. “Look who’s here, it’s Santa!”
“I’m not Santa,” Michele said, “I’m just his helper, see?” and she pulled off the beard so they could tell she really wasn’t Santa. She reached into the bag and gave everyone a present. They tried to give her something in return, but knowing that Santa’s helper couldn’t take anything (it being against the rules, and all), she politely refused.
“We’ve got to do something for you,” they said. “How about a ride in the fire engine?”
“Can I, Popi? Can I?”
“OK,” I say, but we still have other people to deliver presents to.”
“We’ll help you,” they replied.
So we all piled into the big, red, fire engine and drove from place to place, honking the horn. At the gas station, we gave a present to the guy who had to be there to make sure we had gas on Christmas. To the grocer, who stayed open in case we forgot milk. To the policeman who protected us while we were with family and to the lonely souls that were walking the streets, alone on this one special day when no one should be.
We eventually ran out of presents and it was time to return home. As we pulled into the fire station, the alarm went off and our newfound friends had to leave – after all, they still had a job to do. So we said goodbye and returned home where we had a big meal waiting for us, lots of toys to unwrap and the warmth of family and friends to embrace us." - Michael T.
The car stops and I spring from the backseat and run towards the front door of this large 3 story home that is the most magical place, where once a year all the family gathers. Approaching the door, I see my cousins Kelly, Ritchie, Eric and Karin. The door swings open into a living room. Everyone has already arrived. Mom and Dad walk in and sit around the table joining Uncle Philip, and Aunt Diane. My Uncle Gil and Aunt Mary, Uncle Howie and Aunt Dorothy, Uncle Richard and Aunt Rosemary. Uncle Bart and Aunt Ann, Helen, Grandma and Grandpa and Mom have all passed on now, but here, at the table of my memories, they are very much alive. They are happy, joking and boisterous, enjoying each other and toasting the holiday season. There was a whole lot of love back then, that has since faded, except in my memories.” - Mark K.
“A vision without a plan is just a hallucination. For years, I allowed my life to not be taken seriously. I spent 14 birthdays, 7 Christmas and New Years with people society calls outcasts. Imagine sitting in a one-man cell on a beautiful Christmas morning. Hard to imagine? Not for me. Now imagine sitting on a big beautiful couch with your family around you; food cooking, kids playing, Christmas tree glowing and those beautiful Christmas songs playing in the background. For many years I carried this vision with me, but never really made the plans to make it come true. But that was then and this is now. No more probation or parole. I have more than 1,200 days of freedom on my side. No more hallucinations. I have been planning to make this Christmas vision come true. Christmas Day is all prepared. My son and my daughter, their mother and her mother and I have been planning this day for two months now. The food is bought, the gifts sit under a beautifully decorated tree. My place on the couch is patiently waiting for me to arrive. This Christmas, a vision and a well thought out plan will make all my past hallucinations a beautiful reality.” – Donnie W.
Here’s hoping your vision becomes a reality.
Merry Christmas everyone.