The Bells of Christmas Eve (Blue and Gold)

The sun sank languidly into the western horizon and there were bells…bright bells tolling in bright shades of blue and gold heralding the coming the evening…bright bells singing out the anthems and the carols of the Christmas Eve.

Sara smiled, that inscrutable Mona Lisa smile that could soothe like the sweetest balm or cut like the sharpest knife depending on her mood, and listened to the bells while letting memory flood over her.

Memory, shimmering in the muted shades of blue and gold, giving life to each bell in turn and all at once and sending Sara back to tender moments along her journey.

One bell tolls for Daddy, his quick rouge’s smile shining through clouds of fragrant cigar smoke and soft choruses of deep, hearty, often charming laughter.  One bell tolls for Mother, the stalwart rock of her childhood; Mother had gone too soon but, sternly and sweetly, kept informing Sara’s life even decades later.  Bells toll for Christmas mornings filled with peace and laughter even when the pickings under the tree were slim.

Sara listened carefully, breathing deep the stealthy chill of the gathering evening, as the bells…tolling in warm shades of blue and gold…renew connections thought lost.  Connections with brothers and sisters…laughing and crying, hugging and fighting, filling Christmas mornings with a cacophony only children could create and only parents could find unabashedly endearing…connections with friends and lovers come and gone from her life…connections with children she took into her heart and with children she never could have…connections with the magic moments of Christmas, real and re-imagined, that make her feel safe and loved even in her abiding solitude.

The moon rose lazily in the star-flecked sky and there were bells…joyful bells tolling in melodic shades of blue and gold heralding the return of old memory and the birth of new memory during the night and the coming Christmas morning…joyful bells singing out the anthems and the carols of the Christmas day.

Sara smiled, pulling her plush sweater tight around her, and looked up into the night sky…looked up at the calm golden moon, at the boundless blanket of stars…looked up into the smiles of the vigilant ghosts of those she loved and lost…and she nodded, giving silent thanks and humming along with the bells…the bright bells tolling blue and gold…of another sweetly wistful Christmas Eve.

Feliz Navidad

The homes on the Circle were bright and welcoming with festive lights dancing along their eaves and fragrant smoke wafting lazily from their chimneys. The night was cool and crisp with golden stars twinkling in time with a cosmic Christmas carol.

It was the night before Christmas and I was sitting on the bench under the big tree in my yard sipping hot cider…sipping hot cider and waiting.

I didn’t see him arrive; he was just…softly and suddenly…there next to me. “I was wondering when you were going to show up,” I said, not turning towards him, before taking another sip of cider.

He chuckled warmly. “Not surprised to see me, huh?”

I shook my head. “I’ve read my Dickens,” I said with a grin.

“Well there’s just me this time…there are cutbacks all over.”

“Bah, humbug,” I said with a wink.

For a few moments, we sat silently side by side looking up into the endless night sky.

“Are you doing okay?” he asked.

A soft torrent of conflicting reactions and emotions surged through me and I sighed softly. “Yeah…most of the time…sometimes I…”

“I know,” he said.

“I’m sorry I never said…”

“You didn’t have say anything,” he said gently, “I was a clever fellow and you, despite your feints, aren’t nearly as inscrutable as you think you are. Well at least not when you know what to look for and care enough to look for it…and I did.”

“Yeah,” I smiled even as tears formed in the corners of my eyes. “I miss you.”

“Estoy con usted siempre, mi amigo querido.”

I nodded, still fighting back the willful tears. “I know. It’s kept me sane through some of the dark times this year…”

“Good.” He started to say something else but then thought better of it. “I have to go.”

I turned to look at him for the first time. I knew him by heart though he looked more serene than I could ever remember seeing him before. “Will I see you again?”

He winked and smiled. “Yes…it’s a bright circle of life and we’ll all see you again in due course.”

I didn’t need to ask who “we all” were, I just knew. And the knowing warmed me to my soul.

“Feliz Navidad, mi hermano. Feliz Navidad y Feliz Año Nuevo.”

“Merry Christmas, my friend,” I said to the cool Christmas Eve night. He was gone…and yet he wasn’t gone at all.

- for MZ -

Peace on Earth

It happened (it will happen) in late December…that moment. Babies recognized it first…babies and then little boys and girls…and it made them, each and every one of them, smile with unabashed delight.

Recognition spread slowly…but surely…across the span of ages and across the span of the blue-green globe…and it amazed them…each and every one of them…as the wonder of it sunk in.

It happened (it will happen) in late December…that lingering moment…a sublime whisper of heaven falling gracefully…amazingly… across the world we all call home.

Not one voice was raised in anger…not one hand was closed in a menacing fist…not one bullet tore through the yielding flesh of living being…not one tear went unnoticed or untended.

Not one child was crying…not one heart was broken…not one instant was regretted for lack of patience or accomplishment.

It happened…it will happen…in late December…a long moment filled with warm light and bright love.

In that moment…in that unimaginable, utterly thrilling moment…there was peace…peace on Earth…peace in every corner and in every heart all over the world.

It happened…it will happen…in late December…peace on Earth.

Amen.

a merry little Christmas

We rush about to and fro, spending money we don’t have to prove love and friendship that should be known unspoken… but it’s all right.

We hear holiday music unto the point where Nat Cole singing about roasting chestnuts or Bing Crosby dreaming of snow is burned into our consciousnesses against our collective will…but it’s all right.

We dream of Yuletides long gone and fret that those days were better than the nowadays…we string our lights and trim our trees and stand on line at the Post Office while wondering why we’re doing all of it…but it’s all right.

We stop to sing…we stop to share faith, love, peace, and laughter…we pause to bask in the warmth of fireplaces and in the joyful company of friends and other loved ones…we exchange whimsical cards and brightly wrapped gift offerings…we remember, for a soft eternal moment, that the season is filled with light and music and golden magic when we let it be. And it is, wondrously, all right…

…have yourself a merry little Christmas,
make the Yuletide gay,
from now on our troubles will be far away…

Peace, joy, love, light, and laughter to you one and all.

Happy Christmas,
Michael

150 Words: Showtime

This is always the hard part, she thought, as she watched her husband sleeping soundly. He was, she knew, ready for that special night of nights but first he had to get up.

She nudged him and he grunted. “It’s time, sweetheart,” she said.

He grunted again and she shook him harder. “It’s time, big guy,” she insisted, “time to rise and shine.”

“Don’t wanna,” the old man slurred, “tell ‘em to go without me.”

The old woman chuckled affectionately. “They can’t do that…there’s no magic without you. So get up, it’s showtime!”

The old man sighed and rolled over. He sighed and then, with surprising grace for a man of his girth, he rolled out of bed. “Tell me why I do this every year?”

“It’s for the children, Nick,” the old woman said handing him a steaming mug of coffee.

“Right…the children…ho…ho…ho…”

“That’s the spirit, dear,” she smiled.

Acknowledging the Sunrise (on Christmas Morning)

Katie sat patiently at the top of the carpeted stairs…more patiently than she, all of 8 years old with the incumbent restlessness that typified that age, would at almost any other time. The house was still and cool and dark and Katie, bundled in her favorite robe, was waiting. Her parents and her brother were sleeping in their rooms but she was wide awake and waiting…waiting for the sunrise and waiting for the sunrise to be acknowledged.

It was Christmas morning and on that day, more than any other day, Katie wanted and needed to witness the sunrise and she wanted and needed to hear it acknowledged.

Through the windows below Katie could see tendrils of warm light stealing surely from the eastern horizon and she smiled expectantly. In the great room below the staircase, the tall tree, festooned with delicate bulbs and ribbons and strings of popcorn and surrounded at its base with a wealth of brightly wrapped treasures soon to be exchanged and gratefully accepted, seemed to be waiting as well.

Katie heard a door open down the hall but she didn’t look around.

“What are you doing, squirt?” her brother Scott, 8 years her senior and ever her most stalwart protector after getting over the shock of no longer being their parents’ only child back when he was Katie’s age, said while unsuccessfully stifling a yawn.

Katie waved her hand to quiet him. “Waiting,” she whispered.

Scott, ever accepting of his little sister’s whimsies, chuckled through yet another yawn, and sat down next to Katie at the top of the stairs. “Waiting for what?” he asked.

“It’s coming, just hold on,” she replied.

They sat in expectant silence until the clock in the entryway below struck 6 and, in the same instant, the bells began to sing throughout the town. On this day, more than any other day, they sang from every church, acknowledging the sunrise, acknowledging another glorious Christmas morning…they sang, a wondrous cacophony resonating through the still winter’s air, and Katie smiled guilelessly.

Katie leaned into her brother and Scott put his arm around her as the bells softly faded. “That’s what I was waiting for,” she whispered.

Scott smiled. “You’re an odd duck, Katie girl,” he said affectionately.

Katie, knowing how much Scott loved her, took no offense. “Merry Christmas, big brother,” she said leaning up to kiss Scott’s cheek.

Scott hefted Katie onto his shoulder and stood up. “Merry Christmas, baby sister,” he said as he carried her, giggling, down the stairs.

150 Words: The Only Two People in the Room

Joseph and Helen met at a dance when they were 17…he was stoic and yet romantic, she was demure and yet passionate…and they spent the evening waltzing…he was earnest but awkward, she was graceful and patient…as if they were the only people in the room.

They courted for a year and were engaged for a year and then they married. 57 years later, they still sometimes felt like the only two people in the room…but not when surrounded by their family.

Their family…children and grandchildren…gathered from near and far in their welcoming home for Christmas and Joseph and Helen gave thanks for all of the blessings in their life.

And every Christmas Eve…after their family had settled down to sleep…Joseph and Helen…stoic and romantic, earnest and awkward, demure and passionate, graceful and patient…waltzed by the light of the Christmas tree, still and always the only two people in the room.

Snowfall (Part 2 of 2)

(Part 1 of this story is here)

Two days before Christmas, Carole awoke to find the skies still gray and the ground a carpet of perfect white. It was not at all what she had hoped for but it was, she had to admit to herself, exactly what she had expected.

After breakfast, she sat at the kitchen table and made calls to her family…her Dad, her Grandfather, her sister-in-law Melissa Joshua, her sister Kim, her brother Tom, her Aunt Janey, and her cousin April. It seemed to be snowing everywhere they were and yet none of them seemed to be the least bit worried about it.

“Your mother and I wouldn’t miss this for the world, princess,” her father said. He’d called her “princess” since she was 3 and he had no intention of stopping. Carole always pretended that she didn’t like it but her father knew better. Carole loved that he knew better. “Your mother wanted to make sure you got the Granny Smith apples,” he added. “You know she only makes pies with Granny Smith apples.”

Carole’s mother had insisted on baking the pies for Christmas dinner dismissing as “nonsense” Carole’s offer to just buy some pies. “I got the right apples, Dad,” she said, “Mom would never let me here the end of it if I got that wrong.”

“We’ll be there tomorrow evening with bells on, honey,” he father said, “don’t you worry.” Carole smiled to herself as she realized, once again, how much Jason was like her father in terms of temperament; her dad had survived her tumultuous post-puberty years with an equanimity that had really ticked her off when she was girl but which made her feel lucky and loved in her adult years.

And all of her family members said variations of the same thing when she talked to them. The snow wasn’t weighing on any of her family as they prepared to journey from their far-flung cities and towns to her quiet suburban neighborhood. It was Christmastime, they all said in one way or another, and things would work out just fine. Carole always thought of her family as being more like her and less like Jason but she had to concede that she might be mistaken about that.

Last year, Jim and Melissa had held such a wonderful celebration at their house in Virginia that Carole felt a special urgency to at least make this year equally festive for her family.

“It’s snowing everywhere,” Carole said as Jason came up from the basement with a basketful of freshly washed bed linens. “Fritos in airports, just you watch.”

Jason laughed. “You have a vivid imagination, sweetheart,” he said, heading up the stairs that led from the kitchen to the second floor. “It’s going to be the best Christmas ever.”

“That kind of unbridled optimism is probably a sign of some kind of mental illness, you know?” She called up after him.

It wasn’t the first time she had said something like that to him and it wouldn’t be the last time either. “I’m cool with that,” he called back. He started singing “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” at the top of his lungs before she could say anything else.

Carole shook her head and laughed. She stood up and went to the window over the sink. The snow was still falling lazily and she was starting to find it hard to believe that everything was going to be okay. She couldn’t stop herself from thinking that the “best Christmas ever” was going to be attended by just Jason and herself. She did her best to push past the feeling and she went upstairs to help Jason making up the bedrooms.

On the day before Christmas, the snowfall was still coming down intermittently and Carole was wondering what she had done to the universe to deserve having the first family holiday gathering in her house to be called on account of snow. Jason, for his part, kept going as if everything was perfectly in order; he bundled up and went out to shovel the sidewalk and the driveway (and, being Jason, he ended up shoveling the sidewalks and driveways of the neighbors on either side of their house.)

A round robin of cell phone calls let them know that everybody was on the road and in the air, none of them willing to let the weather keep them from gathering together for the holidays. Carole’s mother called from Chicago while they were waiting to make a connecting flight.

“Things are a bit backed up, honey,” Carole’s mother said, “so we’re stuck here for a while.”

Carole’s heart sank.

“But we’ll be there,” her mother added confidently. “A snowy Christmas will be wonderful. The children will love being able to make snowmen and have snowball fights.”

“You’re right, Mom,” Carole said half-heartedly, a bit weary of all of the chipper positive energy coming from everybody. “What’s Daddy doing?”

“He got hungry so he went to snack bar to get some Fritos.”

Carole stifled a laugh and excused herself as quickly as she could.

As the Christmas Eve night began to slip away nobody had arrived.

Carole and Jason, curled up by the crackling fire sipping eggnog, waited in silence.

“Aren’t you going to tell me that everything is going to be okay?” Carole asked, half as a taunt and half as need to be reassured by his optimism.

“Nope,” he said softly.

She was startled by the response. “Why not?”

He leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Because you wouldn’t believe me if I did,” he said softly but not unkindly.

Carole closed her eyes and snuggled into her husband. She did her best to take her mind off the Christmas that might not be. She did her best to take her mind off her family snowed in at airports or truck stops. She did her best to take her mind off her father eating Fritos in the Chicago airport. At some point she drifted off into a dreamless sleep. She remembered half walking at one point and finding herself being carried up the stairs in Jason’s strong arms and being into their bed but then she surrendered to sleep once again.

On Christmas Day, Carole woke up after having slept long and deep. She was still in something of a fog as stumbled out of bed and into the bathroom. Jason was already up and out of bed but she didn’t call out to him. Carole showered and before she dressed she decided to re-take the test she’d taken 5 days earlier.

Afterwards she dressed and wandered down towards the stairs that led to the kitchen. She needed to call and find out how her family members were doing and she needed a strong cup of coffee. She smiled as she started down the stairs and caught a whiff of coffee wafting up. She could also smell the aroma of cinnamon rolls…the familiar aroma that greeted her every Christmas morning when she was growing up…Jason must have gotten up to bake them for her.

When Carole walked into the kitchen, there was food out in various states of preparation…the turkey was in the sink, unbaked pies were on the counter, unpeeled potatoes were on another counter next to vegetables, spices, and other things needed to create Christmas dinner. It was only then that it registered on her that there were multiple laughing voices coming from the other room. Before she could move the kitchen swung open.

“Well, good morning, sleepyhead!” A cheery voice said. “It’s about time you got out of that bed.”

Carole shook her head. “Mom? You’re here?”

Carole’s mother wiped her hands on her apron and enveloped her daughter in a big hug. “Of course we’re here, silly,” she said. “Where else would we be?”

Carole returned her mother’s hug still not quite believing she was there. “Eating Fritos in the airport?”

Carole’s mother laughed. “You aren’t completely awake, are you?” She went over to the coffee pot. “Well, some coffee and a cinnamon roll will make your whole world right.”

Carole wandered over to the door. “Everybody’s here?”

“Yes, sweetheart,” her mother said handing her a steaming mug of coffee. “The snow stopped and the roads cleared. Your father and I got here about 2 AM…Melissa and Jim and the baby were already here and everybody else got here not long after that. Good thing Jason was waiting for us or we might’ve had to wake you up…”

Carole pushed open the door and looked through to the family room. They were all there… her Grandfather, her brother Jim and his wife Melissa and their baby Joshua, her sister Kim and her fiancée Jeff, her Aunt Janey and her Uncle Michael, her cousin April were sipping coffee and nibbling on cinnamon rolls while her father, her brother Tom and his boys, and her Jason were adding the final touches to the Christmas tree. The pile of colorfully wrapped gifts underneath the tree had grown. She glanced out the window and saw that the snowfall had indeed stopped.

Carole’s mother slipped her arm around Carole’s waist and hugged her again. “Merry Christmas, sweetheart,” she said.

Carole leaned her head on her mother’s shoulder. “Merry Christmas, Mom.”

Jason looked over and came over to them. He kissed Carole as Carole’s mom went over to join the others. “Merry Christmas, pretty girl,” he said. “And I won’t even say ‘I told you so’.”

Carole elbowed him playfully. “Thanks for that, wise guy.” She looked at Jason feeling like her heart was so full that it would burst. She leaned into him and whispered, “I’m pretty sure we’re pregnant.”

Jason recoiled, his face covered with a quizzical smile and then he leaned over and kissed her. “Cool.”

Carole smiled and leaned into him. “I knew that’s what you say,” she chuckled. She looked over at her family and sighed. “They made it…they all made it…maybe there is a little magic in Christmas…”

Jason hugged her. “Ha!” he teased, “not so cynical after all, are ya?”

Carole elbowed him again. “Shut up.” Just then the rest of her family caught sight of her and gathered around to exchange hugs and kisses and playful taunts with her.

The rest of the morning was blur of gift exchanges amidst bright smiles and waves of appreciative laughter. Carole’s father and Jason and Tom and Tom’s boys went out to play in the fallen snow while Carole, her mother, her brother Jim, and her sister-in-law Melissa set about the serious business of making dinner.

That night at dinner Carole shared the news with the family while Jason beamed proudly. And later, after the excitement of the day had worn off and the weariness of late night travels and waiting had taken Jason and the rest of her family to bed, Carole sat alone by the fireplace sipping cocoa, gently patting her stomach, and smiling wistfully. It had been a wonderful Christmas despite all of her worries.

Carole looked out of the window at the front lawn…at the snow, glistening softly in the amber streetlight, and nodded appreciatively. “Cool,” she said before closing the fireplace doors and going upstairs to join Jason in their bed.

Snowfall (Part 1 of 2)

Three days before Christmas it began to snow. This was a turn of events that did not surprise Carole…watching the first lazy flakes of snow drift towards the ground outside her living room window…because it was the last thing in the world that she needed. Most years Carole would have celebrated the snowfall with acerbic wit but this was not most years.

She was already distracted by something she hadn’t yet shared with her husband and in two days her family…her parents, her Grandfather, her brother Jim and his wife Melissa and their baby Joshua, her sister Kim and her fiancée Jeff, her brother Tom and his boys, her Aunt Janey and her Uncle Michael, her cousin April…are coming to spend Christmas and New Year’s at her house and there was still far too much to do for it to be snowing.

“It’s starting to snow,” she said ruefully. Carole was a bit surprised at how much it bothered her that Christmas at her house might be scuttled because from the time she was 16 she turned a jaundiced eye on the whole commercial idea of Christmas. But, on the other hand, she did love to be with her family seeing as how they were all living away from each other and the holidays were a joy to her for that reason and that reason alone.

Jason, her husband of 5 years, looked up from the paper. “Cool,” he said brightly, “looks like we’re going to have a white Christmas after all.”

Carole sighed softly and shook her head. Sometimes she thought of herself as a cynical optimist…or an optimistic cynic…but mostly she thought of herself as a realist. As someone who knew that the world had a tendency to go askew if we weren’t vigilant. Jason, on the other hand, was unabashed in his view of the world as a basically sunny and benevolent place.

Sometimes Carole found Jason’s seemingly guileless optimism as a source of great comfort and joy…sometimes she wanted to be able to see the world through his eyes. And sometimes it bugged the hell out of her that more things didn’t bug the hell out of him. “It’s not ‘cool’,” she said as evenly as she could. “We still have so many things to do before the family gets here and this is the last thing I need.”

Since their marriage, Carole and Jason spent Thanksgivings with his family and Christmases with hers. The Thanksgiving gathering was always at her in-laws’ house in Vermont but the Christmas gathering moved from home to home each year and this year was the first time that it would be in their home. Carole and Jason had a good life…he was an clinical social worker, she sold real estate…and a beautiful home that big enough for the children they would have when they were ready. Carole was proud of her life and her house and she wanted to make it a wonderful holiday for her family by sharing both with them.

They were both off work until after New Year’s so they had plenty of time to get ready and plenty of time to spend with the family when (or if) they got there. The food for the Christmas feast and the week after was in the refrigerator, freezer, and cupboards. The towering tree was almost completely decorated (Jason suggested that they leave some ornaments off for the children to put on the tree.) Carole had planned things meticulously…but serious snowfall was the one thing that she hadn’t planned for and she hated that all of her plans might fall apart due to the one thing she couldn’t control.

Jason put aside his paper and walked over behind his wife. “It’s December, Carole,” he said patiently, “snow is a normal thing. And it’s a good thing.” He put his arms around her and kissed the back of her neck. “Don’t fret so much, pretty girl,” he said, “everything will work out fine.”

Carole sighed again even as she nuzzled back into his embrace. Jason could be so maddeningly optimistic and so wonderfully comforting in the same instant. When they met and fell in love in college, none of their friends thought that the two of them had a snowball’s chance in hell of surviving as a couple. Carole was a hard charger, full of almost manic energy and always trying to make things bend to her will in order to make them come out as she needed them to; Jason, on the other hand, was quiet and mellow, moving forward by going with the flow and somehow knowing everything would turn out as it should.

Their first encounter did not especially bode well for their future. They met at a party that Carole had been dragged to by some of her sorority sisters. Carole was not having a good time and she spent most of the party sulking in a corner drinking beer. Jason, who’d come along to the party just because it seemed like a good idea, caught sight of her across the room and settled near her.
“You don’t look like you’re having a good time,” Jason said.

Carole had rolled her eyes. “What was your first clue, Sherlock?”

Jason had ignored the sarcasm. “You’re too pretty to be so sad,” he said. “I’m Jason, by the way.”

Carole rolled her eyes yet again. “I’m not interested, lover boy.”

Jason had smiled. “That’s cool,” he said. “But we will meet again,” he said with a wink, “I have absolutely no doubt about that.”

They did indeed meet again a couple of weeks later at the student café and they talked and talked. And they talked and talked on the phone. And they talked and talked through dinners and walks in the park. And their respective groups of friends wondered what they saw in each other and made predictions that they couldn’t possibly survive as a couple.

But they had survived as a couple. More than survived, they had thrived, folding into each other as if they had always been destined to be together. Jason’s calm had mitigated Carole’s manic tendencies…Carole’s drive had focused Jason’s fuzziness a bit…they were a great team and, more importantly, they were the great loves of each other’s lives. Their families didn’t understand the connection either at first. But when they saw them together and saw how well they complimented each other and then the two of them made perfect sense.

“It’s probably snowing everywhere I don’t need it to snow,” Carole said. “Everybody’s going to get stuck eating Fritos in airports on Christmas Eve and we’re going to be here alone with enough food to feed an army and no army to eat it.”

Jason chuckled warmly and gave his wife a squeeze. “Don’t be so cynical,” he said affectionately. “Everyone will make it here just fine and we’ll all be together and have a wonderful time.”

Despite her doubts, growing as she watched the snow begin to accumulate outside, Carole wanted to believe that he was right. “How can you be so sure?” She asked, though she instantly regretted doing so because she knew the answer was going to be annoyingly sunny.

Jason kissed the top of Carole’s head. “Because it’s Christmastime, sweetheart,” he said with a smile in his voice. He glanced over at the tall, brightly decorated tree in the corner of the expansive family room. “Because it’s Christmastime and there’s magic in the air and turkey ready to be cooked in the refrigerator and it’s our turn to host the holidays for the family and none of that can be denied.” He kissed her once more and then reluctantly let go of her. “I’d better make sure there’s enough dry wood for the fireplace.”

“I don’t believe in magic…Christmas or otherwise,” she said in mock petulance as he turned and walked towards the back of the house.

“That’s okay,” he said, “I believe enough for both of us.” It was not the first time he’d said that and yet she smiled warmly at it just the same.

Carole turned from watching the snow fall to look around. There were indeed things still to do…gifts to be wrapped, rooms to be made up, food to be accounted for…and she resolved, despite her nagging doubts, to keep moving forward as though Jason were absolutely right and everything was going to be just fine.

Carole and Jason bustled about their big house doing the chores that needed doing before their guests arrived. The house was indeed big…a sprawling two-story affair nestled in a quiet suburb…more house than they needed Carole had thought when they found it but they had both fallen in love with it almost at first sight and they had bought it and worked together to make it their home.

“We could have 4 or 5 kids,” Jason had enthused one day, “and all of them would be able to have their own rooms!”

Carole wasn’t sure she wanted 4 or 5 kids…her business was going well and stopping to have babies wasn’t really something she wanted to think about…but, in her secret heart, the idea of a house full of their children was undeniably appealing. She knew that Jason wanted children but she also knew that he wouldn’t press her on the issue so she kept putting off the conversation.

It was a perfect house for children…and a perfect house for hosting a family Christmas. Carole took comfort in that and that, along with Jason’s unwavering optimism about the outcome of the holiday, kept her moving forward even as the snow continued to fall outside.

a Christmas prayer

As reindeer fly into the dreams of children of all ages

and the faithful kneel remembering the Christ child’s birth,

may you know peace and joy and passion,

may your dreams have wings and your heart be ever true;

may you dance with golden butterflies and lazy breezes,

may you sing with rainbows and thunder and blues in the night…

may you know peace and love, joy and passion,

may ever you know the bittersweet song of the universe…

may you know peace…

may you know peace…

amen.

Tomorrow in Baghdad

Despite her name, Mary did not really believe in miracles. She believed in love and in hope. She believed in God and her family. She believed in her country and her husband. But she didn’t really believe in miracles.

Christmas had been warm and cozy…her parents and her sister and her friends had gone out of their way to make it so…to distract her with the joy of the holiday…and as she finished washing the last dish from the scrumptious meal everybody had contributed to, Mary couldn’t help but smile gratefully.

But even though she couldn’t completely shake off the melancholy she felt deep down. She had dared to hope that her David would be able call…he told her it was not at all a sure thing but, despite knowing better, she had dared to hope just the same.

The days and nights since he had left were terribly, terribly long and lonely but she knew that they would be…she’d been through it before. The holiday season had come before she knew it and, being who she was, she threw herself into it though it felt more bittersweet than she would have liked.

Mary’s heart jumped expectantly every time the phone rang that Christmas Day and though the expressions of love and friendship were welcome she found herself crestfallen…it was love but it wasn’t David.

The hours passed and she made peace with the fact that David would have called on that Christmas Day if he could have…she knew that with all of her heart. But the Christmas night had almost slipped away…it was quarter past 11 PM as she dried her hands and shut off the kitchen light. It was still Christmas in America but it was tomorrow in Baghdad.

Mary slipped into the warm nightgown David had somehow managed to send along with other treasured gifts…she hoped that her box had gotten to him…she prayed that he was safe and well as he patrolled that faraway desert land…she wished, despite herself, that he had been able to call on Christmas Day.

Mary slipped into her lonely bed and was just about to shut off the light when the phone rang. Despite the disappointments of the day, she still dared to hope. Mary picked up the phone. “Hello?”

“Howdy, ma’am,” a deep, chipper, faraway voice said.

Mary smiled and fought back a tear. “Hey, sergeant,” she said in a small, creamy voice.

“Merry Christmas, pretty girl,” David said, “thought I’d forgotten, didn’t you?”

“No,” Mary said, “I knew you would call if you could…but it’s not really Christmas for you anymore…”

“Yes it is, sweetheart,” David replied warmly. “It’s still Christmas where you are….it’s still Christmas at home.”

Mary sighed softly. “Yes it is,” she said, “yes it certainly is.”

Mary, despite her name, still didn’t believe in miracles…but she still believed in hope…she believed in love…she believed in her husband…she believed in God and her country…and, on that night, she believed in Christmas magic.

The Dinosaur Boy (a Christmas Tale)

Suddenly, there was an awful roar. It was a roar that shook the entirety of the house. The dishes in the cupboard rattled and quaked. The windows of the house vibrated, threatening to shatter out of the most terrible fright. The big beautiful fragrant Christmas tree, with its sparkling lights, swayed ominously, seemingly ready to topple with a mighty crash at the very next terrifying roar.

The dog cowered in her corner and the cats scurried away to parts unknown.

And the man chuckled...trying to pretend to be afraid but unable to maintain the deception for very long.

And the woman smiled and snapped a photograph. Then she put the camera down and advanced with hugging and kissing in mind.

James the Dinosaur Boy sighed impatiently and rolled his eyes as his mother kissed his forehead and told him how very cute he was. “No, Mommy,” he complained, his blue-gray eyes flashing exasperation, “dinosaurs are NOT cute!”

He shrugged off her hug and tried to find himself again. “And they do not get hugged!” he added resolutely.

James’ father laughed heartily and sat back in his favorite chair. “He’s got you there, honey,” he said brightly.

Undaunted, James’ mother stole another lingering hug. “But my little dinosaur boy IS so cute!” she protested, her eyes a-twinkle with maternal pride.

James the Dinosaur boy sighed again, a bit heavier than before, but resigned himself to the fact that his parents...for all their undeniable wisdom...would never understand the ways of dinosaurs like him.

He roared again and stamped his feet. But that was okay, he thought...he loved them both more than anything else in the whole wide world so if they didn’t really understand about dinosaurs (like him) well, that was okay.

James’ father got up from his favorite chair and came over and lifted his son up.

“Careful, Daddy,” James offered helpfully, “you really shouldn’t sneak up on dinosaurs like that...”

“Sorry about that, Dinosaur Boy,” his father replied seriously. “I’ll be sure to remember that next time. But right now it’s time for all good boys...” James rolled his eyes up and his father smiled and added, “...and all good dinosaurs...to be in bed.”

“Why?” James asked, struggling in his father’s gentle but relentless grasp.

“Because it’s Christmas Eve, silly,” his mother said with a warm smile. “And because Santa Claus won’t come if you’re still awake.”

James glanced at the collection of brightly-wrapped presents underneath the stately tree and shrugged. Santa Claus...James the Dinosaur Boy shook his head but didn’t bother to tell them that dinosaurs don’t believe in Santa Claus.

He gave up his struggle and allowed himself to be carried to his room. He was content in the knowledge that it was only because it was his parents...the only humans he would allow to treat him that way...that he had allowed himself to be captured. (Dinosaurs, of course, always ran free...except when it was cold outside and then they didn’t mind having their pajamas and hot cocoa and snuggly blankets and, truth to be told, even the occasional maternal hug.)

James the Dinosaur Boy endured being made to brush his fangs but declined the new “Star Wars” pajamas in favor of his favorite, well-worn “Jurassic Park” ones.

He endured the kisses from both his father and his mother...though, of course, that mushy stuff tried the patience of a respectable dinosaur like him...and watching the lights go out while wondering what sleep would bring.

Christmas Eve or not, dinosaurs had dinosaur dreams, of this much he was certain. Santa Claus? James seriously doubted that Santa Claus knew anything about dinosaurs.

And then, slowly but surely, he slipped into sleep.

The world fell away and James found himself floating. This most certainly surprised him because he was certainly not a winged dinosaur. But he was nothing if not a boy who dealt with things as they came along and so he floated along content to wait to see whatever this journey was going to bring.

Suddenly he heard sleigh bells and the rush of a cool northern wind and, sure enough, he fell into a sleigh beside a fat, white-bearded man dressed all in red.

James the Dinosaur Boy, ever polite, nodded and said, “Hello, Santa.”

The old man, completely unsurprised by James’ sudden arrival, glanced over.

“Hello, Dinosaur Boy,” he said in a bright, kindly voice. “How are you on this fine Christmas Eve, lad?”

“I’m fine, sir,” James replied. “Though I’m not sure why I’m here.”

“To see the world,” Santa said without hesitation. “Even dinosaurs have to know that they are part of the world, of course.”

James the Dinosaur Boy, impressed by the old man’s understanding of dinosaurs, smiled and nodded. He looked down at the world below. The lights of the cities and towns were sparkling bright and welcoming as the magical reindeer pulled the magical sleigh.

“Everybody is part of the world,” he said, “even us dinosaurs.”

The old man laughed heartily...sounding for all the world like James’ father when he did so...and spurred his reindeer on. “Just so, lad,” he said. “Just so.”

They rode in silence for a while and then James said, “I’m happy to know that you’re real, Santa, but I really should be on my way...”

Santa arched an eyebrow. “Oh really? Where are you off to?”

James the Dinosaur Boy had no answer for him. “I’m not sure.”

Santa reached over and patted his head. “Good answer, lad. Maybe you should stay with me. Being an elf is a very good thing. Maybe being an elf on Christmas Eve is what you’re supposed to be now.”

James had to admit that the offer had its merits but he shook his head. “Thank you, Santa, but I don’t think that dinosaurs make good elves.”

Santa laughed happily again. “Maybe not, lad,” he said merrily. “But the offer is always open...” And with that, Santa began to laugh merrily and the sleigh took a deep plunge and James floated up and out of it.

“Merry Christmas, Dinosaur Boy,” Santa cried out as his sleigh disappeared down into the bright city below.

James the Dinosaur Boy waved. “Merry Christmas, Santa Claus,” he said to the wind, somehow knowing for sure that his words would reach the old man.

James floated higher and higher but he knew no fear (dinosaurs know many things but fear is not among them, of course.)

“Good evening, James,” a pleasant voice said suddenly and James turned to see a proud and beautiful eagle soaring alongside him.

“Good evening, Mrs. Eagle,” James said, recognizing his old friend. “I’m a dinosaur.”

“Of course you are, dear,” she replied pleasantly. “But where are you going on this fine Christmas night?”

“I’m not sure,” James admitted, “but I’m sure I’ll know when I get there. Where are you going, Mrs. Eagle?’

“Home to my family,” Mrs. Eagle replied, “Christmas is a time for families.”

“Even for eagles?”

“Of course, James,” Mrs. Eagle said patiently, “for eagles...and human beings...and even dinosaurs...up here you can see the world and know, for sure, that we’re all just a part of it...all of us important but no more important than any other part.” James nodded but said nothing.

“This is where I go down, James,” Mrs. Eagle said as they crested the mountains and headed over a lush forest. “Would you like to come home with me for Christmas. Being an eagle is a very good thing indeed. Maybe being an eagle on Christmas Eve is what you’re supposed to be now.”

James had to admit that the offer had its merits but he shook his head. “Thank you, Mrs. Eagle, but I don’t think that dinosaurs make good eagles.”

“Maybe not,” Mrs. Eagle said warmly, “but the offer is always open, of course.” And with that she turned and soared down towards the forest. “Merry Christmas, Dinosaur Boy,” she called behind her as she disappeared into the lush living forest.

“Merry Christmas, Mrs. Eagle,” James called out on the moonlight, knowing that his words would reach the beautiful bird.

James the Dinosaur Boy floated up higher and higher, the world becoming smaller beneath him.

“Hello, James,” a musical voice said. James turned to see a golden angel sailing down from the heavens towards him.

James, ever polite, nodded and said, “Good evening, Miss Angel.”

“Do you know why you’re here?” the angel asked.

“To see the world?” James offered.

The angel smiled. “You’ve already seen the world, Dinosaur Boy,” she said softly. “You’re here to see the universe,” she said pointing up to the star-flecked expanse of the endless sky. “We’re all a part of the universe...and the universe is a part of us...it’s all part of the grand design.”

James the Dinosaur Boy nodded...he understood, but he didn’t really understand. But somehow he knew it wasn’t important that he understand it all just then.

“Are you going to invite me to go with you?” James asked the angel. “Do dinosaurs make good angels?”

The angel smiled brightly. “Of course they do,” she said. “But no, it’s not time for you to become an angel...it’s time for you to head home, it’s almost morning and Christmas cannot begin until you are back there.”

And with that, James began to slowly descend back to Earth.

“Merry Christmas, Dinosaur Boy,” the angel called down as she began to rise back up towards the sky.

“Merry Christmas, Miss Angel,” James called out to a shaft of starlight, knowing that his words would reach up to the very heavens themselves.

James the Dinosaur Boy fell softly down...passing mountains and trees...cities and towns...countless souls waking to countless Christmas mornings...ending up, finally, right back where he started...in his house, in his room, in his bed...a dinosaur in snuggly blankets and “Jurassic Park” pajamas.

And then there was morning’s light and he was awakened by his parents on a clear Christmas morning.

“Hey, kiddo, gonna sleep all day?” James’ father said warmly.

“No, Daddy,” James said, rubbing his head and throwing off his blankets. He stretched and stifled an urge to roar.

James’ mother fussed with his hair and knelt down and kissed him. “And what is my little man going to be, today?” she asked.

James thought about it for a minute...sorting through all the things he could be and was...an elf, an eagle, an angel, an important part of the world, and a vital part of the universe, a little boy loved by his parents...and then he stretched again and smiled a shy, sly smile. “I’m going to be what I am, Mommy...” he said impishly. “...a dinosaur!”

James’ mother smiled and shook her head. “How silly of me,” she said, tickling his belly and making him giggle despite himself (dinosaurs usually don’t giggle, of course, but he could make an exception for Mommy.)

They all laughed and James’ father lifted him up off the floor and carried him out to the Christmas tree.

- for Jamie (always and forever my favorite dinosaur boy) -

More Christmas stories can be found here: Christmas Annex

A blog entry on Christmas music can be found here: Neverending Rainbow

Happy Christmas

And one angel cried…
and his tears flowed like diamonds
sparkling bright in the never-ending sky;
and his tears flowed like rain
sweeping through the generous beings
of all the gentle folk resting sure
in the arms of a blessed Christmas morn.

And one angel sang…
and her song flowed like thunder
gentle and proud on an ebon night;
and her song flowed like a symphony
echoing through to the hearts of babies
still near enough to heaven
to know that song of a sweet Christmas morn.

And one angel danced…
and his steps flowed like sunlight
on a crisp and clear winter’s daybreak;
and his dance flowed like magic
keeping warm all of the immortal souls
waltzing with the rhythm of the eternal
and the music of a wondrous Christmas morn.

And one angel cried…
and her father lifted her up…
and her mother held her tight…
and her tears ran like honey and wine,
soft and sweet and sure as the sunlight,
soft and sweet and sure as the promise of love
come true in the dawning of another Christmas morn.

Thank you for visiting Bread and Roses. I hope that you all have a very Happy Christmas and a bright and peaceful New Year filled with love, light, and laughter.

peace and joy,
Michael

Neverending Rainbow
Christmas Annex 2005

Christmas Annex 2005

For the second year I've set up a temporary blog for my fan fiction Xmas tales (including ones featuring the cast of Star Trek: The Next Generation and a certain Man of Steel).

"Christmas Annex 2005" can be found by clicking here.

Happy Christmas, y'all :-)

Angel's Flight (a Christmas interlude)

Soft is this winter’s night…cold and bracing, crisp and sparkling…and soft just the same. Christmas Eves are ever just that way.

And she, bright of spirit and fair of face, loves to soar through the night in those magical hours before Christmas dawn…loves to dance with the joyful music, in many tongues and many guises, that colors and warms the late December air.

And she, loved and loving, loves to take a brief respite from the heavens and come down to Earth, where the prayers and dreams and sleepy giggles of the children are as clear to her as thunder…as clear to her as tender whispers. She loves to slip the bonds of welcome duty and devotion and come down to Earth, reveling in the sweet magic of the sweetest and most magical of nights.

On the night of nights, an angel takes a brief break and, with her enigmatic eyes and boundless heart, savors the promises of peace and love, sugarplums and lingering hugs, of the Yuletide eve. And she loves it more than mere mortal words could properly express.

And she, fleet of foot and strong of heart, pauses high above the heart of a great city and lets her powerful eyes go softly opaque as she takes in the tableau of the Christmas Eve night: children murmuring conspiratorially in their beds, quite unable to sleep; mothers and fathers planning Christmas dinners and gamely trying to decipher arcane instructions for constructing toys; last minute shoppers rushing and cursing their last minute foolishness; lovers enjoying quiet fires and warm brandy; faithful souls gathering in the houses of the Lord for communion and succor.

She sees it all…hears it all…feels it all down to the core of her very soul…and it all makes her smile.

On the night of nights, an angel gives wing to her imagination and to her heart and she soars from one corner of the world to the next and back again. And in the night she embraces the spirit and power of Christmas and lets it wash through her being as it will.

And then, as the dawn begins to peek over the far horizon, she sighs contentedly and takes wing for the heavens that are her home…takes wing for the heart of the universe that is her home and ours as well.

Soft is the winter’s morning…warm and golden, bright and bracing…so very soft. Christmas morns are ever that way.

And she, bright of spirit and fair of face, slips the bonds of dreamtime and smiles warmly and waits patiently. And in time the beautiful woman, her mother, comes in to collect her.

“How is my angel, this beautiful Christmas morning?” her mother coos in a voice warm as sunshine and sweet as honey, “How’s my beautiful Supergirl?”

And she, the baby girl with enigmatic eyes and a boundless heart, smiles her secret smile and gurgles happily allowing a dream of flying through the Christmas night to brighten her heart in ways that she as yet has no mortal words for. And the morning is full of love and the promise of a boundless, peaceful future. Christmas Days are ever like that

- for Shelby Elise (Papa’s Girl) -

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On an entirely different note, the infamous (well, at least amongst family and friends :-) Star Trek fan fiction Xmas tale I wrote years ago is, if you're interested in that sort of silliness, posted here.