When I was young, I loved Christmas and everything it meant. I loved Christmas at home, with the tree and the presents and the cooking. I loved Christmas at school with the party and the making crafts. I loved Christmas at church, with beautiful singing and the story of the nativity. I loved it all. Most of all, though, I loved Christmas visits to my Aunt Mary's house.
My Aunt Mary, though, was a treat in herself. She lived in North Carolina, and for most of MY life, was a widow. I vaguely remember my Uncle Howard, but only as the man who drove Aunt Mary up for visits. Aunt Mary was my Daddy's oldest sister, and the oldest of seven kids. I think that's what made her seem motherly, even though she had no kids of her own. She always just seemed to be the one in control. Her house was always perfect, her day was always planned, and she never seemed even a little bit wrinkled. She was the best cook I have ever met, and that distinction stands to this day. She's the only person I've known who could make the Southern Living recipes even LOOK like they did in the book. She would cook even the simplest dish and make it fabulous. People all over the little town of Yancyville would come to visit, just hoping to be asked to stay for lunch. And she always did. She was a force to be reckoned with. And as a kid, it was pretty darn cool to see her telling my dad and my aunts and uncles how to act, what to do, and whether they were right or wrong.
She had this house that was always spotless (not like ours), this furniture that was grand and sophisticated (not like ours) and all these wonderful dainty trinkets that were amazing to look at (if they ever existed at our house, trust me, they were quickly broken or put away to protect). And my parents, with five kids experience under their belt, were terrified to turn us loose in her home. For years, I thought she was the one who didn't want us wandering around - reality check? Mom and Dad were horrified by the notion that we'd break HER things. So they told us, over and over, to sit quietly on the couch, and be quiet and respectful. But there were always the bathroom breaks. They were the escape route, to wander into the "other rooms" and see all the wonderful things. Like the formal livingroom, with perfect white furniture, that still had the plastic on it! And the diningroom with the beautiful picture on the wall, and the peculiar doors on all sides. And the basement, oh the wonders of the basement. Rooms and rooms that went back forever, and had things stored in every nook and cranny! What a wonderful, wonderful place. I was in sensory overload, all the time. But Christmas, good Lord, it was like a separate world.
Mind you, Aunt Mary never had a big tree, not that I can remember. Her house was decorated perfectly though, with all these little Christmas snippets. First, there was the beautiful wreath on the front door. So lovely and ornate, begging you to knock. And then there were the candle-rings and flower wreaths inside. Candle-rings? Not at our house. Too fancy for our house. And little Santa decorations scattered here and there, popping out for Christmas, fairly dancing with cheer. But the silly thing I remember most is her doorknobs. She had these adorable, cloth doorhangers, that hung down from the doorknobs, santa and elves, cloth and felt. But in my eyes, they were the most wonderful decorations in the world. I wandered from room to room looking at the door knobs, longing to have such wonderful decorations at home. I would reach out (when no one was looking of course) to touch the soft santas, hanging from the door, and think how delightful it would be to have that elf hanging from my bedroom door. How delightful to have those gorgeous candles sitting on our shelf in the livingroom. How people would be envious if WE had such a glorious wreath on our front door. What a magical Christmas she created.
As an adult, I think I try every year to re-create the magic she captured with her little door hanger elves and her pretty decorations. I trim the tree(s) (Yes, of course there are several, it's part of the magic). I set my little Santas and my snowmen all about, trying to remember what about her decorations were so eye-catching. I never seem to quite get that same wonderful feeling. Perhaps she just had the magic touch. Maybe she was just a classy lady who knew exactly how to decorate to make people happy. Or, maybe only the ten-year-old in me could ever find it. My Aunt Mary passed away about ten years ago, and even though I went to the estate auction and tried to find them, I never saw those wonderful little elves and santas. They are lost to me forever, I suppose. But I must admit, each year, when I start to pull out the boxes of decorations and carefully unwrap the dainty trinkets, I know there's a bit of her in me, and I know she'd probably approve of my efforts. She'd laugh that tinkling Aunt Mary laugh, and she'd sit down and enjoy the moment. And that's a little piece of magic for me, too.
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