Over the last few years, I have found myself looking back to Christmases past. Now that I am past that half-century mark, I have a number of them from which to pull. I have spent Christmas in many places around the globe – multiple places in the U. S., England, Saudi Arabia, and (while not the day proper but days leading up) Germany. Each place holds special memories for me not because of the place, but due to the special people.
This year, I found myself more often than years past looking at the lights and letting the music wash over me as I used the time machine in my mind to visit Christmas past. Perhaps it was due to our little one turning 10, that I kept going back to my little town and the holidays of my youth. It is often said that memories are looked at through rose-colored glasses. Altering spectacles or not, those memories are filled with wonderful days and people. I believe that part of the charm of those days is the fact that I grew up outside a little town where the Niagara River and Lake Ontario met. A small area where everyone knew everyone and the holidays seemed to be an inspiration for Norman Rockwell.
My early years were spent in a house that was part of a neighborhood of 20 or so houses. That was a place where kids had nothing to worry about on Christmas break except playing hockey in the street or, if cold enough, sliding on the ice in the ditches. You ran around the neighborhood free as could be. The rule was that you went home when it got dark – sometimes even later. It was on a Christmas morning in that house when my dad woke my brothers and I early and brought us down into the living room. My brother received a G. I. Joe action figure and tent. My brothers all took the tent with excitement. I was still half asleep and could not understand what was so great about a plastic tent. Only after wiping sleep away three or four times did I see what 
was to become my companion for the next 14 years. Lady Guinevere sat in the tent whimpering. A tent that only a couple of weeks later she would not be able to enter. We had received an Old English Sheepdog. I remember Lady for many of my following Christmas memories have her in them.
Most of my holidays spirits come from after we moved in with my Nana. The street held fewer houses; 5 to be exact. On one side of the street sat two homes of cousins. One our side sat three, the two outer homes belonged to our cousins with us in the middle. It may not have had as many kids, but the rules were the same as was the freedom. Even before it became our home, it was the house where so many memories were created.
What was cool about our little town is how many of the residents either were related or acted like they were. Off the living room sat a sun porch. During my early years, it wasn’t heated or if it was – it didn’t hold much of the heat in. This actually worked well for Nana because it became her storage area for cookies, pies, and other baked goods. Between the time of Thanksgiving and Christmas, our Nana would work during the day and come home in the evening to bake. She filled the room so that any person who came to visit would walk away with a little tin or box filled with delights to be shared with the family.
It wasn’t just our house that received the visitors. I can remember as I grew up having to take trips to the different cousins around town. Later, I would end up being called on to babysit the younger generation. This called for even more visits.
The best years were when we had a white Christmas. Just because we lived in the north did not mean we were guaranteed to have the picture-perfect holiday. But on the years when it did snow, it just added to the feelings of the holiday. I can remember driving around with Dad as we looked at the lights. Snow on the lawns and covering up the lights just made the sparkles a little brighter. As I entered my teens, I found that my favorite part of snow was when it would come down in the evenings. I would go out with a shovel to clear the drive. I was lucky on nights when no one else had started shoveling for it allowed the quiet of the night to settle in around me. I would just stand there surrounded by the falling flakes with the lights from the few houses on our street blinking away. Those days may have been the closest I have ever come to pure peace.
I think, for me, the nicest part of being from such a small-town area was the pacing. Things just didn’t seem as rushed. It was okay to slow down and take it in. It was due to the slowness that one of my favorite nights comes to mind. I may have been 12 or 13. I sat alone in the living room – almost alone. My faithful companion, still thinking she was a lap dog, sat with her front legs across mine as I sat in the floor taking in the sights and sounds of the fire. She laid her head down as I scratched her ears. The mantel was decorated with boughs and lights. Behind me, the mirror had lights going around it. The blinking casts shadows down upon us. The tree stood in the corner all decorated with lights, ornaments, tinsel, and possibly popcorn. I still remember the bubble lights going around the tree.
I can remember the stereo playing Christmas carols. Since we were so close to Canada, we used to pick up their radio stations. One of them played the carols from the 30s and 40s. I am not sure why, but I have always preferred those over the current ones. The curtains on the front window were still open – soon they would be closed to keep out the cold. For now, they were pulled far apart. Though it was pitch black outside, you could see the snow built up on the lower part of the window. The pile was growing. Outside of that, I cannot remember any other sounds or people moving. It was just me, my dog, lights, a fire, and music. There was a feeling of contentment.
I think I go back to this memory often for it was only a couple of Christmases later when we sat around the tree minus one. This was one of the last Christmases in which we had my Dad. Perhaps, that contentment was from it being one of the last for our family as a whole.
Today – today so many years have passed. We live in a different time when things don’t seem to slow down. One must really try to slow the pace even a small bit. Everyone seems so busy and 
pulled in different directions. Lady is long gone, but she still lives in my memories. Our parents have passed but their spirit is with us each year as we hang our lights.
We live on the West Coast and the chance of snow in Los Angeles is …. well not very high. We try to slow things down for our daughter hoping that she is making memories that years from now she will be able to sit and look back upon. A time when she can complain about how fast life is and how much slower it was when she was a child.
So, as we bring the holidays to an end, as we bring 2017 to an end, I have one more Christmas wish. I wish that each and every reader has their own memories be it from a small town, or a bustling city, or somewhere in-between. I wish that each of you have time with your family and if you can’t that the warmth of their love will suffice until you can feel the warmth of their hugs. I wish you peace and contentment.