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Christmas Past

Submitted by Virginia Watts on Mon, 12/12/2011 - 12:07

It’s 1957 and even though it is winter and cloudy, smog gives an acid-edge to the air in West Los Angeles.   But it is what I know as normal for that time and place, and the weather seems right to me even though it’s a little hard to breathe.

Things at home are dark and chilly.  That’s the only way I know how to describe it.  My mom and dad aren’t speaking to each other, but they aren’t arguing either.  One little brother worries too much for a seven-year old; and the other little brother is more agile and quick than any two-year old I’ve ever known, with a decidedly mischievous bent.  I am fifteen, and having just gotten my first paycheck from Curries’ Mile-High Ice Cream Store, I am Christmas shopping.

Everything seems gray to me, even the air.  I always have loved the holidays, but this year it all seems out of my grasp.  Usually this is the time when my mother is at her most flamboyant and giddy best.  But this year is covered over with something I can’t quite make out.  It’s like looking at the world through smoked glass, or a dirty window.  Color is gone, and I didn’t even notice it draining away.  One day it was just wasn’t there.

I can see that time clearly, now.  My parents were not prepared to deal with my mother’s illness, and at that time no one really had a name for it.  There was no treatment, either.  So we were all dragged along on the roller coaster of her moods.  She could be the most interesting woman in the room or she could be the angriest and most disagreeable.  She could be the most loving and generous of mothers, and then turn her back on you.  She could layer blame like some layer blankets, not knowing why she felt the way she did but never dreaming it had anything to do with her internal demons.  It had to be somebody’s fault, didn’t it?  That was the beginning of the chaos and darkness for our family.  My mother could no longer control the mercurial slides of her psyche within any kind of normal boundaries.

I remember wandering up and down the aisles in the dime store (Newberry’s?), hoping to find something that would spark my mother back into her old animated self, or at least make my dad smile.  My brothers were easy – almost any kind of gift pleased them, and they didn’t have many toys.  Would my mother like some perfume?  No, that always triggered my dad’s allergies.  Would my dad like a new wallet?  No, he loved the one he had.

Suddenly I was caught short by a long array of brilliant Christmas ornaments.  Bright red globes next to green, and blue, silver and gold…and in that moment the rest of the world seemed to shake off the gray and come into focus clearly, full of color.  I can’t explain that very visceral reaction to something so simple.  But I do remember that my heart was lifted up, a bubble of joy rising in my throat.

It makes a difference to notice, or to let the world surprise you if you can, with even the simplest things.  Those shining ornaments have, since then, always caused the same reaction – talismans, reminders, that joy is available and could come upon us, even if unbidden or consciously sought.  The challenge was still the same at home, but I could bring some color back with me.  Some shine that was just mine, but would be shared and just possibly brighten up the gloom.  I don’t remember what I actually bought that day, but I did carry home those gorgeous colors.  I felt drenched with light and beauty, and that is all I needed to take away.