People always choose summer as their favourite time of the year. Freedom, excitement, warm weather...although I’ve always found winter to be the time that revives my spirit. Full of that subtle vibrancy and a warmth very different from that of summer, the White season is what I look forward to. It is a cozy, comforting aurora, not a burning blaze. Only the ambiance of Christmas could lace the air with such comfort and joy.

The significance of this one day is felt months before its occurrence. The bent tabs on advent calendars, hanging ornaments from the sky in the mall, and the endless rows of lights that illuminate the houses and streets. At home, our grand Christmas tree goes up on the weekend on December 1st. The tree represents so much more than an incubator for unopened gifts. It is dressed in a menagerie of living memories: old artwork from elementary school, family photos, little nick-knacks that in some way connect to our family’s identity - it is our Genesis Tree.

Of course, old Saint Nick isn’t the only icon of the holidays. I see menorahs being lit, each golden arm a pillar of strength and faith emitted through the flame it holds. I see the South lining tables with food and seven candles – the ignition of Kwanzaa. And I see the patrons of the East returning home for Yuletide, a smile on each person’s face. Nevertheless, the resulting feelings created and spread through these celebrations remain the same - each culture with its own Genesis Tree.

My family has a set order of activities regarding the holidays. Christmas Eve is a preview - a time to open one gift and get a snippet of what tomorrow will bring. Many would feel such a thing would only leave us wanting more, and it’s true - Christmas Eve is when I’m on the far edge of my seat, but not for finding out what gifts are mine the next day. No, I crave the gifts of presence and company on Christmas. It is one of the few chances where my whole family will be able to get together within four walls and truly be there.

The next morning is probably the only morning where I look forward to getting up early. Grandma’s apartment has always been the venue for opening gifts - an event that takes us from nine in the morning to one in the afternoon. Of course, there are countless pictures to be taken, jokes to be laughed at, and “coffee breaks” that seem to be the saviour of my family’s energy. I love it either way. Again, not feasting my eyes on the actual present, but the tearing of gift paper, feeling it wrinkle and crush in my hand, and then catapulting it at someone else across the room is what really fills me with that undeniable warmth.

My parents and I always had to leave Grandma’s early to check on the turkey that was in the oven at home. I never minded - I loved the smell of it, like a rich aroma that is tied with home. Grandma always wants a picture of all of us by the tree, our dog, Teddey, too. She tells us how she enjoys comparing the photos from one Christmas to another and seeing how we’ve changed...or, moreover, how I’ve grown.

Everyone begins arriving at our house at around four, appetizers and wine bottles ready in assembly line to be shared. More laughing to ensue and dinner to be cooked. Our kitchen is always a zoo at this point, mom and Grandma hovering by the oven and watching the turkey, Grandpa giving the microwave a workout, and me by the stove, making sure the soon-to-be mashed potatoes don’t boil over. Although, this year, I was delegated to gravy stirring and adding corn starch to the mixture. My Uncle was awarded the job of mashing the potatoes; I had to admit, they were pretty smooth...
Christmas crackers sit neatly on each guest’s plate. After the food was cooked, plated, and set on the table, everyone would sit down and pull on their crackers. Grandma would always accidentally fling a part of her’s and hit someone beside her - what better way to start off the feast? The head of the table, Grandma would always lead us in a Christmas grace before we ate, most of which were short and simple.

Then the real fun begins. The circular conveyor belt of hands that rotated dishes around the table for each person. When it was finally time to indulge, the food is always delicious. Grandma’s hand-crafted cabbage rolls, Aunt Kellea’s creamy mashed potatoes, and mom’s stuffing with Turkey gravy (which I am accredited for this year). Desert was no less enjoyable. We had at least 2 or 3 different kinds of cakes or pies, apple or strawberry rhubarb were what I dived for.

It always fills me with a wistful nostalgia when the evening was over and all the relatives depart for their homes. I think my fear was that I’d have to wait another year, until next Christmas, before this could happen again. Or maybe it was that next Christmas wouldn’t live up to the one just spent. Either way, I wished it would never end. Silly of me though, considering New Year’s Eve was only a week away and that is another time when the family tries to get together. We would stand in front of the T.V. at my Aunt Kellea’s house, and watch the ball drop in Times Square. Clear gold filled up the wine glasses, and party hats were abundant. New Year’s Resolutions were stated just before the turn of that four digit number.

My cousin Madison did not join us for either of those days this year. Being that her parents are divorced, she spent the holidays at her dad’s. Of course, I still saw her the following week and wishes of happy holidays were exchanged. I don’t know…something just felt missing that winter. I think it’s when traditions change, traditions that have defined our holidays for so long, that is the real cause of this void. It leaves us uncertain of what to expect, and what feelings to expect with these changes. I guess I sure felt that.

Christmas time is a time for joy and prosperity. For the gift of giving and the warmth of love. It is a period for unconditional smiles and memories to fill a lifetime. No other time of the year unites the world in such a euphoric way - through the universal language of celebration. I used to think that I spoke this language with perfection, understood every word. Something is tugging at the dream-like quality of this Christmas fantasy these past few years, and I can only wonder if nothing lasts forever, not even the stature and magnificence of a Genesis Tree.