"There's still meaning in the magic of Christmas, in the state where the Christmas trees grow. Where neighbors still drop by with cookies, breads and pies, and warm themselves beside the kitchen stove. It's the spirit of sharing, giving and caring, hanging wreaths upon your neighbors door. That's the Spirit of Maine at Christmas time, from her mountains to her great Atlantic shore."
That song was released in 1987 and I remember the local radio stations and TV stations playing it a lot. The first time I heard it I fell in love with it. It would stay in the back of my head all year. I would love to get ready for Christmas. Growing up a PK (pastor's kid) getting ready would really start a bit before Thanksgiving. I was a total PK growing up, the good girl. I remember kids asking me if I carried a bible in my backpack. Now that I think back on it I should have: if I'd ever knocked one of those many bullies with that backpack I would have left a mark. Especially if it was a hardcover edition. Anyway, being a PK had it's good points. I would love to help my dad run off the bulletins down in the basement (pre-photocopier). I would fold them to get ready for services. During the holiday season I would help put together the Christmas dinner baskets in the food pantry, which was in the parsonage basement when we lived in Wilton, Maine. I remember the congregation doing carol rides through town on an old wagon. In the snow. I remember singing downtown by the statue near the old Bass factory.
I remember how much I loved Christmas Eve with my Dad. We would always go to the early service as a family. Then afterwards we would come home, fold bulletins for the late service, open our Christmas Eve present, and then I would almost always go to the late communion service with Dad. I almost always sang at one of the services. I would sing "All is Well" by Michael W. Smith. Dad told me one year that the song reminded him of me so I learned it with the choir director. I liked doing that for Dad. One of my most favorite pictures of me and my dad was taken Christmas Eve one year in Wilton. I think I was in college at the time, and it was snowing. Mom took a picture of dad and I out in the snowy night. I love that picture.
Winter and Christmas has always been my most favorite times of year. When HWSNBN and I were married he really didn't care much for the Holidays, but at least he let me delve into it. I love to bake for the holidays. Especially the Sterndale "Fruitcake" and all the cookies that I bake for Uncle Richard next door. I decorate like crazy, start playing Christmas tunes in October, the whole shebang. But this year was different. This year was the Christmas that Naissa and Jay would be in Colorado with their dad, and my brother and his wife would be in St. Louis. So it woudl have been just mom and dad and Kianni and me. The Sunday before Christmas I had gone over to the Delaney House for the Second Shift Microbe luncheon, and I admit, I had quite a few mimosas. I got home mid-afternoon, did some chores and then sat down to veg when my Dad called. My mom was on her way to the hospital; she was having a heart attack. Dad wouldn't let me come up to see her (and that's probably good because I was in no condition to drive three hours) but said that he would keep me posted. Mom ended up having an angioplasty done Monday morning, and Kianni and I drove up to spend the Holiday in Maine, Mom had a rough few days, and was back in the ER on Christmas Eve due to massive pain, but she was home for Christmas. We had a very mellow day, and a great dinner, but for some reason I just didn't feel it. I mean FEEL it. Understand. Revel in the birth of Christ. It just didn't seem right.
I'm not sure why, I know that what happened to Mom had something to do with it. I know that all the uncertainties happening in my life right now has a hand in it. And the way my brain thinks and tends to blow things out of proportion doesn't help either. My head is just so full. Overflowing. Overburdened. I guess I just really need simplicity. While growing up in rural Maine I always said that I was going to get back to civilization. I would revel in that song by the BeeGee's "Massachusetts" I always said that when I got older that I was "going home". Well, now I'm older. And now I really want to go "home". I want to go back to the simplicity of Maine, I want to go back to the nature and the quietness of it. I want to go back to where neighbors are more friendly. I want to go back to where those neighbors do drop by with cookies, breads and pies and have a cup of coffee while standing around the kitchen stove. I remember doing that, most dearly when we would be in Lubec at the McCarthy's. But that's another blog. In essence, tonight I will simply be sitting here in my living room, with Christmas carols playing; hey, I've got two more full days until Epiphany, and will relish in every minute of it. And in my head I will dream of being back where "that's the Spirit of Maine at Christmas time, from her mountains to her great Atlantic shore."
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