Meredith’s Musings: Blue Christmas Magic

article by Meredith McKinnie

Christmas gives me a warm feeling, a cozy familiarity that reinforces my appreciation of family, giving and seeing magic reflected in children’s eyes. It’s hard not love the holiday, even though the hustle and bustle can morph into stress. Expectations are high. Luckily, I grew up in a home where Christmas was on display, Santa’s Christmas Eve path was closely tailed on the evening news, and 5 a.m. Christmas morning was never too early to begin opening presents. I noticed before I understood why, that my mother was more happy to see us open our presents than to receive any of her own. One stocking remained empty as my sister, my dad, and I rumbled through ours. Dad’s camo stocking always had boxes of junior mints and cordial cherries. Santa didn’t get her stocking filled.

What I remember most are the subtle routines, the traditions that made my family Christmas personal. Holiday decorating began on Thanksgiving night. Navigating the 10 foot tree’s box from the upstairs attic to the living room is an Olympic event, Mom pulling from the front, one of the three others of us pushing from the back and Mom’s constant warnings against scuffing her barn red wall coming down the stairs. I chuckle just thinking about it. We spent Black Friday protesting the crowds in the comfort of our home. It was my unofficial job to help Mom decorate. The exterior eight poles would be quickly wrapped with white-lighted garland. The alternating windows would feature a similarly wrapped wreath in the center and wide red ribbon in the shape of a cross. A silhouetted manger scene would adorn the right corner of the porch, an acknowledgement of the reason for the season. The boombox would bellow the voices of Brenda Lee, Bing Crosby and Elvis. The Blue Christmas album is still one of my favorites.

Many of those traditions I’ve carried into my own home. I want my daughter to remember the consistent themes, the Christmas staples. I also put up the tree after Thanksgiving dinner, no matter how full our bellies might be. My husband takes over the outdoor decorating and will randomly call on me to rave about his work. We had a debate last year over warm versus cool-colored lights, me preferring the former and winning. Cool blue looks trendy, not traditional. Husband would go ape on decorations if I let him, but my father’s financial sermons keep me from giving in to Husband’s impulses to compete on The Great Christmas Light Fight. But still, the house is lined with enlarged bulbs, the light post in the yard is wrapped to look like a Christmas tree with the conveniently-shaped foliage, and the wrought-iron fence my dad crafted solely on his own, is now wrapped with the same white-lighted garland Mom once used on her exterior poles. I brought my holiday childhood home decor home with me.

We’ve also developed some habits of our own. Christmas movies are indulged during the holiday season. A Harry Potter marathon is Addy, my nine-year-old stepdaughter’s favorite. We cozy up together on the couch with Husband’s homemade popcorn and watch all eight movies within a matter of days. Elf is Husband’s pick, and it often gets a few showings throughout the month. Home Alone means the season has arrived for me, and my family indulges my craving for Kevin McAllister’s adventures. Love Actually and The Family Stone are saved for after the girls go to bed. Watching love with my love is the perfect nightcap. We both love Bruce Willis in Die Hard and believe firmly it IS a Christmas movie, though Walmart didn’t have it in the holiday movie section. A 15-minute dig through the $5 DVD bin produced Bruce’s bloodied face on the cover, and we both yelled with glee, that triumphant feeling of finding exactly what we wanted when we wanted it.

We just associate holidays with happiness. My family taught me that. It’s the perfect culmination to whatever year we’ve had, the bringing together of everyone with the comforts of familiar food, friendly festivities and family focus. We teach children to believe, to imagine the impossible, and adults can too. When we look across the table and see the only person in the world who would get a chuckle out of the Christmas box on the stairs, we remember we started together. We’re bonded together for life through shared experiences. It’s the beauty of tradition and holiday cheer. And this season, I’m thankful to have been shown that beauty and continue those traditions with my own family. I hope one day when my daughter hears Elvis’s sultry voice, she’ll think of us, and she’ll smile.