Memories Are Made Of Times Like These
.
Christmas is for happy ecstatic moments
I have been told by many who sigh
after the day of opening presents
and the ecstasy didn’t happen.
Expecting something that was not in
their control…
Romance and excitement, diamonds and
moonlit dinners.
Those mostly happen in movies,
not in real life.
Not those I know anyway !
It seems that’s real life...
expecting and not always receiving
and remembering how it was that year.
.
And it is.
Memories are made of years like these
of unrealistic expectations.
.
My memories are down to earth.
The first year married, first hubby,
we didn’t have a lot of money
so small things like socks
and candy bars were wrapped to have
something to open
far, far, away from “home”…
we didn’t “get” it yet that where
we were was now our home.
It seems a normal way to think
for young marrieds.
.
It is.
Memories are made of times like these.
.
Christmas Eve we went to a Catholic
service in a Japanese church,
the first service to be in Latin, Japanese,
and some English.
We weren’t Catholic, but friends invited us
so it seemed like a nice way to spend
Christmas Eve in a foreign country.
.
And it was.
Memories are made of events like this.
.
The next year was Christmas shopping…
Christmas “window” shopping, in Tokyo.
Seeing the wonderfully decorated stores,
lots and lots of lights.
That shouldn’t have surprised me but it did.
Center of the store, lights strung several
stories ceiling to floor,
we got to see all the beauty from balconies,
riding on the escalator.
It was a fun thing to do.
.
It was, in retrospect, a good decision.
Memories are made of times like this.
.
It was also memorable,
because the two wives, myself and a friend,
were soon to deliver babies.
We seemed to have no fear of venturing
to far off places to see how
the Japanese celebrated Christmas,
even though a large percentage of the Japanese
weren’t Christians.
It seemed the thing to do far from home,
one wife a teenager, the other,
a registered nurse…both soon to deliver,
but not afraid.
.
And it was.
Memories are made of events like this.
.
There were then Christmas’ with children
growing up, in Florida, San Juan, …
Feliz Navidad was big in Puerto Rico,
every where, I guess that year.
Then there was Maine, with the children
becoming grown-ups,
later with children of their own.
Home was Maine,
when they were growing up,
now they have memories of things Maine,
they do on a holiday far from “home”
but in their own homes.
It seems the thing that grown-ups do.
.
And it is.
Memories continue to be made of events like these.
.
Now for the first time,
I am alone….
well, the cat lets me live with her,
so I’m really not alone.
The tree is no longer the ceiling scraping wonder,
that took a zillion lights and ornaments.
The scheffleua donned with miniature lights
and one left behind light blue ornament…
a new memory of last year,
when a granddaughter was here.
It seemed to be the thing to do,
decorate the tree Sabrina style.
.
And it is.
A memory was made last year and continues
this year.
.
Now this year
I got what I’ve asked for year after year.
PEACE and quiet.
And it was good.
It was not lonely.
Church still was attended on Christmas Eve
as it has been for the forty years
in Maine.
At the end of my day,
I was invited to a birthday party for Jesus.
His cake was made by a nine year old girl.
Her first cake, a master piece for the baby Jesus,
a new memory of participating in the tradition,
not being a guest at the party.
It was a lovely thing for her to do.
.
As it should be
A memory was made on Christmas Night
that will last everyone’s memories for years to come.
.
.
siggiofmaine 