25 Questions of Christmas: Allana's Answer ~ Christmas Memory
What’s your favorite Christmas Memory?
Being young, sitting by my tree at night, seeing the elves illuminated by the lights. Magic.
I had a real tree one year but the next year my sister and I cried in hysterical sobs as our real tree was abandoned and sent to the trash. We switched to a fake tree, the kind of tree you had to match the colors for lengths of branches (This was our job as Dad was colorblind). After assembly and putting on the lights, we got out the box of tissue wrapped ornaments.
Maybe I just made this up in some weird dream, but do you remember the little elf guys in the Rice Crispies commercials? I SWEAR these two elves about the size of Barbies came from some breakfast cereal giveaway. Anyhow, my sister and I weren’t allowed to touch them, they were off limits and one’s head was wobbly with stuffing coming out.
They seemed surreal to me and I would love going into the living room at night alone, only turning on the Christmas tree lights and entering the magic land inside the tree with the elves. I also enjoyed the clay hand painted angels that Auntie Cecily made and these fragile glass blown birds with feathers. My mom led CGIT at the local United Church where the girls made these sweet little half walnut shells, a piece of moss, a plastic mini tree and either a Bambie fawn, a little red polka dot mushroom or a bunny. There was red twine to tie them to the tree.
Then came the preschool projects from me and my sister, those cat’s eyes, you know, wrapping yarn around criss crossed popsicle sticks. I remember making an angel and using cue tips for her hair… like nasty unkept dreds over the years! Yet I proudly adorned the tree with her beauty. Tinsel was the best… ever so artfully strewn by Dad, little did I know two sheets to the wind by this point.
In hindsight Mom and Dad kept so separate. She didn’t help with the tree, stayed in the kitchen. Then she’d have this ritual of playing Handel’s Messiah. I feel bad now and have apologized to her in Heaven for doing this, but Dad hated the classical stuff so he’d make fun of her. My sister and I would join him and we’d all get chased out to go tobogganing on Christmas Eve while she listened to her gross music, yet she would still have hot chocolate waiting for us when we returned. Isn’t that just awful? I mean I really didn’t care for her Nana Mouskouri, but I honestly didn’t mind the Messiah and now I love it. I wish I had the courage to speak my Truth back then and stay home one year with her.
I’ve learned a lot about how it wasn’t safe to speak the Truth in my home growing up, which is probably why silent moments with the little elves by Christmas tree lights felt so peaceful, magical and free.>