Well this has been an interesting month. First, our grandchild
is born a month early. Then, my book is ready months ahead of schedule. Two
babies in one month. I’m so excited my head might explode.
This Christmas, as we sit down with family and friends over
a meal cooked with love, we have so much to celebrate. But as we pull the same
decorations out of the closet year after year to hang on the tree, we are
reminded of Christmases past.
One Christmas in particular comes to mind for me, as I watch
my daughter with her new baby and wonder what traditions she will keep, and
what new ones they will develop as a family.
It was somewhere around 1993 or ’94, and I was living with
my first husband in a subdivision just outside Kemptville. He was raised in the
Czech tradition at Christmas, where “the angels” bring the tree, fully
decorated and laden with gifts, while the family is eating their holiday meal
in the next room. Now let the logistics of that endeavour soak into your mind
for a minute.
While I suppose it is possible to drag a fully decorated
tree into the house and install it, with presents beneath, all while curious
children are in the next room, I don’t imagine it is easy. The kids are
supposed to be kept out of the “Christmas room” for about a week leading up to
the big day. In the time of larger houses and formal living rooms or sitting
parlours, this may have been somehow possible. The door was closed, or a
blanket hung as a curtain to block the view of the goings-on on the other side.
The children did not peek, because they were threatened with
the possibility of being discovered and scaring the angels away. Much like the
North American version, you don’t want to get caught spying on Santa Claus.
You’re supposed to be tucked up in your beds, fast asleep while he is doing his
work.
Back to the angels. They work behind the curtain for days,
adding to their decorations, and occasionally making noises that only add to
the excitement when heard by the children. Finally, during the holiday meal
that is always held on Christmas Eve, not Christmas Day, a bell is rung. That
is when the children know it is time to go and discover what the angels have
been up to in the other room. The angels ring the bell when they are finished
their work.
Well, that Christmas in the early ‘90s, my three little
girls were eating their breaded filet-of-sole and delicious, addictive potato
salad (the traditional Czech holiday meal) when they heard the bell. Their
forks stopped in mid-air and their eyes grew wide.
“Mom…” my eldest whispered. “Is that….the angels?!”
“I think so,” I answered, smiling. I told the girls they
could get up and see what was in the other room. The room they had been
forbidden to enter for nearly a week. The room that they swear they could hear
angels working in. (I use the term “they” loosely. My eldest was four or five,
my middle one was one or two, and we had a new baby.)
Just as we got up from the table and I pulled the baby out of
her high chair, their grandfather rounded the corner of the room, a big smile
on his face.
My eldest, 5-year-old Milena, stopped in her tracks and
looked at him in horror. He was still holding the bell. I looked at my husband.
He smacked his forehead with the palm of his hand and shook his head. Then I
looked at Milena. I could actually see the wheels turning in her head.
“Jedda (spelled “Dede; Czech for grandfather)….did the
angels leave their bell?”
“Yes! Yes! I found their bell!” yelled her grandfather, relief
and joy on his red face, redeemed by the innocence of youth.
I can’t remember how many more Christmases the angels
visited our home while the girls were young. Santa came too, and left a stuffed
stocking for each girl as his calling card. We had a mixed-culture Christmas
tradition and somehow, it worked.
Here’s wishing all of you a very Merry Christmas. Good luck
keeping Santa and the angels and any of your other traditions as secret and
magical as they were always meant to be.
Email: dianafisher1@gmail.com
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