I was thinking earlier about Santa and when I stopped believing in the possibility such a person existed. I was fourteen. What can I say, I'm a late-comer to most of life's Big Truths. It was three days before Christmas and my aunt was taking us home after having dinner with her and her family. Christmas in the New Orleans area can be cold, but it rarely ever snows there. I looked out the rear window of the station wagon at the full moon against a midnight-blue sky. A few long pale clouds sailed in front of the moon, darkening the earth below. Then they passed and the moonlight brightened everything almost as if the sun had come out. I thought of Clement Moore's poem about the night before Christmas and started to recite it. My youngest cousin was maybe seven years old, but he turned to me with a worldly smile and asked the question I'd tried to avoid ever since I was ten.
"You don't still believe in Santa Claus, do you?"
"Don't you?" I asked, trying not to answer his question.
That was the wrong thing to say.
"Hey, you guys," he yelled gleefully. "Guess who still believes in Santa! MARTHA!"
It wasn't that I didn't know who provided all the gifts under the tree each year. It was just that I didn't want to stop believing there was someone out there who knew what I wanted and, if I were good, really, really good, would see that I got my heart's desire.
What sealed it for me was when, instead of the record player I wanted, there was a 20-inch fashion doll (this was before Barbie, but the doll was a giant version of that) sitting under the tree with my name on it. Somewhere in my stash of old photos, there is one of me sitting in front of that horrendous aluminum, slice-and-dice, Christmas tree holding the doll in my lap. The smile on my face belies the disappointment inside. (Such an ungrateful wretch - probably shouldn't have received anything.)
Over the years whenever I've read the poem, or told little kids, "Yes, there really is a Santa Claus," I cringed inside at the memory. Now I say that many people believe in Santa, but I've not seen him yet.
Even so, this post was going to be a mock-serious letter to Santa, in which I was going to ask for selfish things like a magic heating-oil tank that refilled itself automatically, or money to pay the taxes so I can keep my home, or - I am chagrined to admit this - please, just let me win the big lottery. It was to be an attempt at humor to cover up or mask my whining - again.
Before I could get in the mood for writing such drivel, I stopped at the Whiskey River blog and found the following prayer, which humbled me and snapped me out of my pity-party. As I am now entering the winter of my life, these few words, laden with such meaning, are better than any letter to Santa, better than there being a Santa in the first place. And I have been good this year, and this is my heart's most secret desire.
- God, give us a long winter
and quiet music, and patient mouths,
and a little pride - before
our age ends.
Give us astonishment
and a flame, high, bright.
- Adam Zagajewski
If I don't get back here before Friday, let me wish you all a long winter filled with bright lights, songs and much love from those you hold dear.
(c)2009 Martha McLemore
19 comments:
Wonderful story!! Love that prayer and your good wishes. Happy Solstice, Christmas and a long winter to you too, Martha!
Marja-Leena, dear one:
In reviewing other posts, I see that I missed responding to you a couple of them ago. I am so sorry.
Isn't that prayer wonderful? I googled his name and discovered he is a well-known Polish poet. I found his "Self Portrait," which has a line that really hit me: he refers to black birds pacing in a field (I think), which he wrote were "like Spanish widows." The images those words conjured really stuck with me.
I visited qarrtsiluni today to see your contribution and listened to the description. A very fine piece of work, M-L; just beautiful.
I used to put my tree up on the Solstice, and one year decorated it with white lights and snowflakes.
:)
Oh, You went for pop up! Wonderful.
Merry Solstice! Bon Hiver!
Zhoen:
You used an exclamation point! No, three of them!
Just consider this my holiday present to you. I know - I'm a cheap winch, hunh?
:D
Best wishes to you and your daughter and grandson for the season.
thank you, Susan. Wishing you and yours the same.
:)
And may the bright lights shine on you.
Lovely photo.
Lovely sentiment in the poem.
Among the circle of female bloggers I'm familiar with, a largish percentage appears to have rejected dolls at an early age. And it's quite obvious you wanted the record player so you could listen to Shostakovich string quartets and Berg's Wozzeck. I suspect my Christmas list for you would match the one you have, offline, compiled yourself. To which I would add resilience and a sense of amused detachment in the face of comments from me that overdo the confrontational mode. But, most important, I would wish you the blessing of continued fortitude which you have already shown and which is a handy thing to have around when the snow - real and metaphorical - starts piling up against the door. I salute you with the admirably short French salutation, le chapeau, which is how those usually voluble people say: I take my hat off to you. Otherwise, cheers.
I hope your holidays and the New Year are filled with lights, as well.
Thank you, John, for stopping by.
:)
BB:
I wish for you, among other things, a good Stilton to go with your black beer, perhaps a loaf of fresh rye, hot from the oven.
I would hope that we always continue our "confrontational" bantering, which I thoroughly enjoy and look forward to with much eagerness. Please don't change that, BB.
Love to you and Mrs. BB and your beautiful daughters.
Martha
:)
Even if Santa Claus doesn't exist there are it seems plenty of friends, this one included, in different corners of the globe, Dear Crow, to take his place in wishing you a peaceful and fulfilling Christmas and a New Year replete with everything that crows like, and this Crow in particular.
Wishing you a very warm, very happy Christmas. Santa is a wonderful idea to believe in and it si always sad when that particular spell is broken. I aim to let my boys believe for as long as possible... it is the most intangible but perhaps the most precious of gifts.
Thank you, Plutarch, for you thoughtful good wishes. I am pleased to call you friend.
Sounds like you and Heidi are going to have a houseful of loved ones and a feast, to boot. Enjoy!
:)
Steve, I hope your boys have a long time with Santa in their hearts. Kids deserve Santa and anything else that makes their lives joyful.
Tell them all the stories you know about their Great-grandfather, too, who is a real-life hero.
:)
a lovely story and a great image... so tranquil and beautiful.... winter looks so nice.....
have a wonderful yuletide season
SEASONAL, IF SECULAR, WISH-LIST FOR MY TOLERANT BLOG-AMIS
Straight-driven woodscrews. Racondite allusions. Continuous power. Unbroken broadband. Cat-poo-less borders. Boggle-free bearnaise. Self-cleaning sables. Myth-riddled churches. Fly silent mornings. Ale from the cask and brewing adjacent. Wall-to-wall Cosi. Unending Brendel. Clarified Proust. An index for Yoolie. Masterpiece photos.Perfume from mangroves. Machine shining steel. A high-revving two-stroke. Murdoch-free broadcasts. Snowy crunch footprints. Fat taste from Meursault. Snow-covered Prague... well, you get the idea. I pray you are supported by technology in 2010
That conjures up a memory of being taken to a department store Father Christmas when very small. I was unconvinced and slightly horrified by the experience. I had been told to wish for something beforehand, then he asked me what I wanted. I thought the rules were you didn't tell anyone what you wished, and anyway, the old bloke scared me.
'Do you want a dolly?' he asked. I nodded, just wanting to get away. In fact I'd wished for a kitten, a real one, but I knew that was unreasonable, or I was simply embarrassed to reveal my innermost wishes to a stranger.
A toy kitten would have been OK, but I got the doll, a boring baby one in a blue frock which I called Jane because it was a girl's name, stuck in a corner and immediately ignored. My mum knew I didn't like dolls, so I inferred Father Christmas had spoken to her.
I was never really encouraged to believe too much, my parents didn't like any kind of fibbing and my older brother was ever the arch-sceptic who wasn't going to give me any leeway, so I don't remember a particular moment of disillusion.
That poem is so beautiful. Yes, I want astonishment.
Have a good Christmas, Martha, and a hopeful, peaceful, soulful New Year.
Harlequin:
That image is beautiful, I agree.
Hope your new year is a good one.
:)
Lucy: I hope I will always be astonished by life, and surprised.
We should start a "Didn't Want the Blooming Doll" club. I know a couple other women who felt the same way as you and I have. Bet there are lots of little girls who said the same thing this Christmas, too!
:)
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