It's a Kind of Magic

I don't think I am the only one who has experienced a little bit of Christmas magic in their lifetime.

I know that having had children in my life for the past 16 years, the holiday has been a source of great stress but also great joy. But even with kids of my own, my thoughts this time of year are of the best Christmases I ever had. The ones when I was a little girl waiting for Santa and hoping my little heart out that I had been good enough to get a few presents under the tree.

Of course I have memories of the great gifts I received over the years, as well as the great gift (a Cabbage Patch Kid) I didn't receive, but my favorite memory has nothing to do with a gift. It has to do with the year my brother and I hung out with Santa in our bedroom.

I was probably 5 or 6 at the time and my brother and I were just bursting with excitement. It was Christmas Eve and my mom was trying her best to get us to go to sleep. My brother and I had bedrooms in the attic and, if memory serves me correctly, we were sharing my room for the night. I remember finally being in bed too awake to even think about sleeping and I am sure my brother and I were whisper talking when we were interrupted by these sounds coming from the roof.

Thunk, thunk, thunk

We stopped talking to see if we could hear it again. Our minds were racing as we wondered if it could have been reindeer landing on the roof. What we heard next was a different sound. A much louder and recognizable sound.

"Ho, Ho, Ho! Merry Christmas!" Followed by the ring of sleigh bells.

Now we knew Santa had arrived and we raced out of our room to greet him. We were about to bound down the stairs for a first hand view of the man in red but were cut to the chase. He was actually coming up the stairs and each step was loud as his boot met the wood. By the time he got to the top of the staircase, my brother and I were jumping up and down.

I think my brother, with the more outgoing personality, was ready for a sit down with Santa but it was tight quarters upstairs. As we were getting the pleasantries out of the way I remember my brother saying, "Santa, let me put the light on."

Santa replied with a chuckle, "No, Ronnie that's ok." But before he could finish his sentence my brother had flipped the switch. What happened next I can visualize as if it happened yesterday. The light bulb in the fixture came on for a second and then flickered out. The bulb was dead.

Now don't think we were all fumbling in the dark, squinting to see Santa. There was a faint light on in the hallway, but my ever so curious brother wanted to see ol' Saint Nick clearly and fully illuminated. (Keep in mind, a brightly lit room could have revealed familiar traits that may have blown our guest's cover.)

The lack of light did not dim our conversation though. I really don't remember if I mustered up any courage to say one word during our special visit, but my brother had the chance to ask the burning question on his mind, "By the way, Santa, how's your wife?"

I remember the laughter and joy surrounding our intimate visit with Santa. It was brief but powerful. I don't even remember what special toy Santa left me that year, but the gift I received that night has outlived anything received as a child. (Although,  had I received a real Cabbage Patch Kid for Christmas in '83 I bet I would still have her.)

The memory of the light bulb burning out in the lamp carried me through my years of Santa doubt. I know there might be a truly practical, scientific reason why at that moment the bulb gave its last glow, but I prefer the more magical explanation. Wherever you stand on the Santa story, you cannot deny the magic surrounding this time of year.

During the past couple weeks I have noticed people are a little more friendly, more generous, more loving. I had a conversation in Walmart with a stranger about elf slippers as if we were best friends. I received an unexpected gift from a friend that was absolutely perfect. I had a picnic dinner with my husband in an uncrowded PPG Wintergarden surrounded by gingerbread houses and Santas from around the world. Magic!

I hope whatever magic you find this Christmas season makes your heart happy and warms your soul.

Merry Christmas!

KB and Santa at the Governor's Mansion

Up On The Roof Top

Sometimes it takes 14 years to make a dream come true.

This weekend after a very long day, I returned home to see a beautiful lit Christmas wreath adorning my house. The wreath was complimented by our festive Christmas lights, wise men, Mary and Joseph.

My husband, like many other smart minded people, took advantage of temps in the 60's this past weekend to get the outdoor decorating done. I know some of you overachievers had your lights up after Thanksgiving, but after getting the inside of our house decorated, our gas tank was on E.

This wreath I speak of has been a dream of mine since we moved into our home 14 years ago. Our roof comes to a point above our front door and the triangle shape, in my opinion, made the perfect spot for a wreath. Of course slapping a wreath up there would not be easy. There would be drilling involved, borrowing a ladder, heights to be climbed. No, this was not for the faint of heart.

In my loving, wifely way, each year I would say, out loud, this year I am going to put my wreath up there - like it would be so easy with a wave of my wand "Poof!" there it is. Truthfully, I was a waiting for my husband to risk life and limb to make this happen. Believe me when I tell you, with kids and work, some years it was a feat just to get the tree up. (I am sure many of you can relate.)

I was never truly disappointed when a Christmas would come and go without the touch of green that could make our house snap with holiday sizzle. But, I would whisper to myself, like a sinister Elf on the bad side of the North Pole, "Next year, will be my year and I will be envy of everyone in Christmas town."

This past weekend paved the way for my husband to 'get er done' since I would be out of the house for most of Sunday. He bought the wreath, bought a special drill bit to drill through mortar and then borrowed a ladder from our next door neighbor. I wish I could have watched the scene unfold as the magic started to happen. I am sure, while on the ladder, the words coming out of my husband's mouth were not very magical, but he would never admit that.

One of our other neighbors assured my husband that he didn't need to drill through the roof to make way for Santa. "That is what the chimney is for," he joked. Yes, my husband was able to spread holiday cheer and humor throughout our neighborhood, trying to make my Christmas dream come true. When he explained his story and what he was actually trying to do after 14 years the same neighbor responded sympathetically , "Sometimes it takes that long."

My husband told me to inform him when I would be driving up our street so we could do light up night. This was a tradition from my childhood when after a day of detangling lights, hanging up strands of bulbs, and replacing burned out bulbs my mother would take us kids across the street so my dad could flip the switch for the first time to reveal our holiday house.

Some years it would be red lights. Some years it was multi-color, although my dad's signature shade was blue. I remember our exaggerated 'oohhhs'  and 'ahhhs' to make my dad feel good about a job well done.

The one year my dad was having some trouble getting the lights to come on after numerous attempts to flip the switch. He came outside to investigate the problem  and that is when our neighbor's adult son classically asked, "Hey Ron, you need a match?" My siblings and I wanted to laugh, but we did not dare. We feared our dad would not be able to keep his frustration in check and may take a swing at the guy. But luckily, my dad offered only a slightly sarcastic reply and minutes later was able to set the house aglow with the cool flicker of soft blue illumination.

Light up night this past weekend offered the usual glow of red, green and white lights on our home along with the nativity scene, but it was only after pulling in the driveway did I notice the wreath near the roof. I was so surprised and excited. Because the windows of our van were down, in an attempt to give my older children a better view, I am sure my neighbors could hear my big mouth yelling, "My wreath, my wreath, I finally got my wreath!"

I am not sure why this became the year of the wreath. Was it the weather? Was it that the stars were aligned? Was it my nagging? We probably will never know the true answer to this one but really, who cares? The wreath is up and I can take in it's glow every night when I pull into our garage after a long day. I am kind of thankful that it took more than a decade for this dream to come true because I am sure after the first year, fifth year or even tenth year that I mentioned it, it would not have been appreciated nearly as much as it is now.

Snoopy creator Charles Schulz is quoted as saying, "Christmas is doing a little something extra for someone.” It sure is nice to be that someone!