It’s that time of year.  As the holidays wind down and the New Year is almost upon us, the triple threat of merry, melancholy and malaise have struck once again. And although the sun is mostly shining here in California, I wake in the morning sensing a seasonal weightiness in the air.

I recall December mornings in Minnesota.  Nowhere else will you experience pitch black in combination with bracing cold and deafening quiet. One morning, more than a couple of decades ago, I woke early, my flannel nightgown sewn by my Mom twisted around my legs.  Throwing back the covers and unwinding the soft fabric from my limbs, I managed to quickly slide down out of my top bunk, the chill of the house hitting my feet as soon as I touched the floor. Normally, I would have headed right for the baseboard heater, plopping down in front of it and waiting for the heat to cycle on and pour out of the vent to warm my tiny feet.  But it was Christmas morning, and I was on a mission to see what presents were under the tree. I tip-toed to the living room as fast as I could. 

The tree stood before me, lit as it was the night before, but with one big change. There were presents at its feet.  LOTS of presents.  I marvel now looking back at the bounty of gifts. My Mom was divorced, raising five kids, pretty much on her own. How did she manage to fill the Christmas skirt under the tree?

As a kid, I thought the size of the package indicated how good the present was. (Now I know sometimes the nicest things come in the smallest boxes.)  I quickly scanned the colorful display in front of me and immediately spotted it — the largest present was a box measuring 3 feet by 2 feet.  I was sure it was for one of my brothers.  Maybe some silly game or stupid toy that only boys liked. I crawled over a couple of smaller boxes, slowly reached for the tag and caught my breath. The tag said it was for ME.  What could it be?  What could it BE!? I was practically hyperventilating with excitement. 

The biggest gift under the tree was for me!

The promise of that gift makes me think of my Grandmother on my father’s side who seemed so old to me as a child, but who was probably only 70.  (Oh how different 60, 70 and 80 look as an adult.)  My family had a pre-Christmas dinner every year at Grandma J’s house, until my parents’ split made that impossible.  I can still picture her tree — so many ornaments you could stare at it for hours and still not take them all in. Each one a different shape, a different color, the glass reflecting off the lights and tinsel, making it as mesmerizing as a burning log in the fire or the ocean lapping at the shore.  

Adorning Grandma’s coffee table was a delicate glass dish filled with colored hard ribbon candy, too pretty to eat. On her enclosed porch, multiple folding tables were adorned with tablecloths and candles themed to perfection.  No kids table for us — we all sat together for the occasion. The main course fails my memory, but I never forget desserts.  Grandma J always served ice cream, in cutout shapes of reindeer or holly or angels.  

Grandma J not only made the table special, she was a master gift wrapper.  Foil paper, matched seams and never just ribbon, but ribbon and a bow that was seemingly a large centerpiece on each package and included a little elf or a wreath or ornament (that you could save and reuse next year on someone else’s gift). Inside those packages, you might find a dress (usually matching my younger sister’s, but a different color) or slippers with faux fur trim and little faux rhinestones on the toe.  One year, it was a music box — complete with a ballerina that spun when you opened the top.  Each of those gifts are long gone, outgrown, or worn to nothing. 

As a six year old, Grandma J seemed scary, a strict woman whose black leather lace-up shoes and house dresses seemed to indicate a buttoned up heart.  But looking back, I see a different woman — someone who showed her love maybe not with hugs, but with time and care of a different kind. 

Those fancy kind of Christmases were not the routine at home.  Money was tight, though it never felt like it as a kid. There was the year we brought home the “discount” tree and realized the trunk was so crooked, it had a hard time staying upright.  But every Christmas morning, my Mom made cinnamon twists for breakfast — a family recipe from my Aunt Rachel — as we opened the gifts.  In the evening with dinner, we each got a very small glass of Cold Duck.  Did we feel grand!   

I love watching Christmas movies at this time of year because they remind me of a number of things — home, past Christmases of course, but more than anything a call to look back with both remembrance  and regret, which goes hand in hand with looking forward and how to be a better person. How to live a better life — whether you have the biggest gift under the tree or no gift at all.  

That Christmas morning, many years ago, I opened that 3 x 2 foot box and was thrilled to find a life-size plush German Shepherd.  She had a shiny gold collar with a matching gold leash and a handsome black muzzle. Her mouth opened as though she was smiling at me with a red tongue peeking out.  Our dog back in the day was a real live German Shepherd named Gretchen. So there would be no problem naming my new stuffed animal. I would call her Gretchen, of course.

Plush Gretchen moved out to California with me. And has lived in every apartment and house since. She now sits on the shelf in our bedroom, a reminder of that special Christmas when I received the largest gift under the tree.  And a reminder that holidays past fill our hearts with perhaps an equal measure of merry, malaise and melancholy, joy and sadness — yes, all can exist in the same breath.  But more importantly, reminders of the past can be powerful igniters of the New Year.

The Christmas decorations will be taken down in the next day or so, wrapped in tissue paper and placed in the plastic bin which will live in the garage until next year.  I dread the task, but I have to remember, once the tree is back in its box (we switched to fake three years ago – please don’t judge), a stream of natural light comes through our front living room window.  The symbolism is not lost on me.  The New Year is about to begin. And with it, new life.