OF PINE BOUGHS AND MISTLETOE

Let me speak of Christmas, of cold December breeze and crisp, gray mornings that diffuse the luster of the lazy winter sun, of shorter days welcoming the alacrity of misty nightfall as it makes its daily round, of festive music awash with yuletide musings as you turn on the radio, of the red poinsettia blooms that provide a welcome reception wherever you go. Christmas is of unsullied falling snow, of frost and ice and freezing rain, of murky slush and the icy caress of wind to your face as you greet the morning. Christmas is of a romantic kiss under the mistletoe, of storm-tossed green ivy stoically bracing itself against the callous unrelenting wind, of pine trees fashioned for hanging multi-colored ornaments, of blinking lights, of festive sights and sounds, of bearded Santa's gifts, of unrestrained excitement reflected in a rousing carol of the bells. It's a time, it's a season, it's renewal, it's hope, it's faith, it's rejoicing, ...and it's magic!

Christmas is for children, which we all are regardless of age, for inside each one of us is a little girl or boy that never outgrows the phantasm of childhood. The enchantment of Christmas that lives in our fantasies as little children is still within us, lurking just beneath the surface and ready to spring open at the mere sight of flashing colored lights and other accoutrements that herald the season. The promise of Santa's visit on Christmas Eve arouses an infinite sense of wonder and jubilant excitement in anticipation of suprises hidden in his mythical bag of toys. There are gustatorial delights spread out on tinsel-edged tables teasing and calculating the limit of one's self-restraint that as we age becomes more and more of a losing battle. However, to a child, the treats and sweets, the pies and eggnogs of Christmas fare complete the unmitigated thrill of the celebration.

Then let me speak of childhood...and Christmas to the young. The night before Christmas, for Charmaine's family, started the celebration that honored the birth of the Savior of the world. Clad in makeshift costumes, the children re-enacted the Christmas story as their dad read from the Scriptures. Their performance was amateurish, their rendition of the greatest story ever told was simple, muddled, and unsophisticated. And yet, a glimpse of the spirit that attended that first Christmas blessed the hearts that paid homage to the birth of the King of Kings. The eternal implication of the lesson taught that night in plain and unadorned offering would be melded and stamped in impressionable hearts and, hopefully, would afford them a deeper and more profound understanding of what the season is all about as they advance in age.

Christmas morning never came soon enough to those eager little souls who yearned to open the "loot" from Santa's enormous bundle left from the night before. There was a pile of Christmas gift boxes covered with wrappers of bright green and red and gold, some with bows and some without, under the lighted Christmas tree. There were little gifts that the Christmas stockings surprisingly doled out before the bigger boxes were opened and as each name was called and little fingers tore off the adorning wrapper, there were broad smiles of hopeful anticipation and silent wishes whispered from the heart that the content would be among the list they sent to Santa. With each opened gift, the collective "ohs" and "ahs" were followed by heartfelt "Thank yous" and hugs from the recipient to the generous giver. Smiles became broader and the uncontained excitement was usually punctuated by a leap of glee in the air when the box revealed a most-desired item. When at last the final gift was opened and the torn wrappers and boxes were collected, the sense of normalcy that one hoped to return proved to be a product of wishful thinking. The din of newly-acquired toys and electronic games and gadgets floated and reverberated in the air as a string of assorted sounds that did havoc to the ears but brought warmth to the heart.

Before noon, Cherry and Greg, with their five beautiful girls, came laden with food and gifts. There was an exchange of hugs and Christmas greetings that preceded the scrumptious Christmas lunch of ethnic and American cuisine, from ham and turkey with all the trimmings to the ubiquitous chicken adobo, sisig, kaldereta, chicken teriyaki, and the perennial favorite, kare-kare, complete with its less popular side-kick among my 2 sons-in-law, shrimp paste or "bagoong". No meal would be satisfying to the palate, especially on Christmas, sans the waist-enhancing, mouth-watering, glucose-shooting presence of a cornucopia of sweets so we made sure this Christmas meal did not disappoint. There were pies, madeleines, cookies, flan, maja blanca, and chocolate galore. Lunch was held in a buffet style, informal setting that left all seventeen of us in a state of satiety and sugar high. When lunch was over, the table was left momentarily when the opening of Christmas gifts from Grandpa and Grandma was announced but the lure of other treats to nibble on drew the ten children back at every opportunity like a metal to a magnet. Grandma and Grandpa gave the traditional gifts of festive outfits to everyone with little stocking stuffers and treats and they in turn received wonderful reciprocal tokens that were carefully and thoughfully selected.

Then it was time for the children to return to the task of childhood - playing. The older ones retreated to the second floor computer room, the younger ones huddled together with their electronic toys in hand, then opted to go for a competitive game of shooting hoops in the basement. The two human dynamos, the twins in perpetual motion, continued in the unrelenting activity that their tiny hands could muster - petting, touching, opening, catching, holding, pinching. Unable to hold still, they would climb the chairs to reach for a treat on the table or would take turns to shoot their balls in the tiny hoop in their infantile quest for perfection in their own brand of basketball. The adults watched in rapt attention to the flury of activities around them while at the same time exchanging stories or just enjoying those moments of togetherness. Seemingly seeking for an avenue to expend their boundless supply of energy, the children returned to the family room after an hour or so. The music of Wii Just Dance#2 soon proclaimed another activity was on. Amid the sounds of laughter from the spectators, the children took turns showing their adroitness in following the lead of the dance crew, their slim, limber, little bodies mimicking with gusto the crew's rhythmic movements while competing for the highest score. Some of the more uninhibited adults, like our son, Pierre, joined the young ones in a hilarious display of terpsichorean moves and the noise and gaiety of our whole family rent the quiet of the late afternoon.

Soon it was time to call it a night. It was a wee late but the weather was surprisingly mild and kind save for the presence of a thin fog that descended surreptitiously while we were immersed in the beat and rhythm of Dance 2. The quiet, receding steps of the other members of our family as they went out the door and returned to their home was like a contralto to the music of the night, the music of Christmas. It was a masterpiece arranged with utmost care by a loving Father in Heaven for the delight and infinite enjoyment of us to whom the gift was given. With it was a solemn dedication that was akin to a promise: that the boundless glory of such divine offering would never lose its meaning and would last to the depths of eternity when shared with those we most love - our family. With a prayer in my heart and immense gratitude for all I was so generously blessed with, I looked up to the wide expanse of earth and sky outside my window and reflected on the scene of that first Christmas such long, long time ago, when the unblemished babe in a lowly manger became a gift of immeasurable love... and my spirit bowed as my heart sang softly, softy, in humble adoration.http://withintherainbowsbend.com/