Christmas is the one holiday out of the year that I prefer to celebrate in the evening. Not only is this a tradition that goes back many generations in my family, but there is something so magical the late hour. By 5:30 in the evening, the day has already shortened into night. All the Christmas lights and candles are twinkling inside and out of the house, and my husband makes sure a roaring fire blazes in the stove. The smell of Christmas goodies fills the air, cloves, cinnamon, and ginger, and if we are very lucky these days, a blanket of snow will gently begin to cover the earth outside. Within a few minutes, family will pour through the kitchen door, laden down with gifts and good wishes.  The dogs will bark their greetings, and the food will be piled high on the long table for people to pick from their favorites: pineapple and clove covered ham (tofu for the vegetarians), buttered brussels sprouts, scalloped potatoes, turnips and onions coated in mustard sauce, cheese balls with walnuts and shallots, spinach dip, spicy salmon dip, freshly baked bread, party crackers, old fashioned Christmas punch, warm egg nog, mulled cider, and tea.  It’s the one time of the year I really get to show off my pewter, and every piece gets used, from the old tankards to the giant punch bowl and plates.  

Of course, everyone knows that the sweets are really Christmas’s main food, and the dessert tiers are piled high amidst the candles: fruitcake, my sister’s old-fashioned bourbon cake, fruit-shaped marzipan, almond-flavored Russian teacakes, spiced nuts, raisin and pecan jumbos, pecan tartlets, raisin-filled cookies, old fashioned gingerbread, coconut macaroons, sugar cookies shaped like sheep, peanut-brittle, Turkish delights, sugar mice, and many brightly colored oranges gifted to us early in the season by my sister.  The sights and smells are overwhelming, and not the least for being viewed by candlelight.  Not long after this midwinter feast, magic begins, as for generation after generation, everyone has known who will soon walk through the front door bearing gifts. Once it was the children who used to listen for the man in the red suit, now the dogs wait with trepidation. Even the adults get a little giddy, perhaps the moment reigniting the child in us all.  We all know that soon the waiting will be over. 

Each day of the season marks a day of anticipation which has led to this moment. Following the break-neck pace I set for myself the week of Thanksgiving, I begin overhauling our home, inside and out, for the festive season.  In one day, every window on the house and the outbuildings get an evergreen wreath with a bow, and on the inside, I literally deck the halls with red berry garlands and strands of white Christmas lights.  However, even before the first hall gets decked, my family and I always begin by cutting our own Christmas tree, dogs included!  After a time, the dogs began to know that once the turkey day was over, they were piling into the old jeep for a trip to the tree farm, where they could run, meet people and other dogs, pee on trees, and pick up all sorts of smells.  My favorite tree is a Scotch Pine, chosen largely for its good piney smell, which only strengthens as the lights warm the boughs throughout the season.  My family and I always rush to see who will pick this year’s tree, and in spite of our extensive searching, it’s usually the first one anyone offers as a candidate. 

Once we get home, we enjoy some leftover Thanksgiving food before getting started on the house.  By evening, everything is up and the tree gets brought inside to be strung with lights and decorated with glass ornaments.  My kids call it the I Spy tree, as every inch of the boughs get covered with various glass-blown birds and farm animals, fruit, wooden toys, and various tiny musical instruments given by the kids’ old violin tutor.  It is such a mix you would be hard pressed to find a specific item, and often, by the end of the season, we have trouble locating everything before the tree goes out to the garden to give shelter to the animals.  While we decorate the tree together, we play the first Christmas carols of the season on the CD player, and the dogs have been looking on, waiting for the moment when their own package will arrive under the tree.  Even the sheep get their own tree, and during the short, grey, winter days, when poor sheep have little to graze on, the colorful lights seem to cheer them up.

Over the month, I exhaust myself baking cookies for family members and friends. My family and I, ever the do-it-yourselfers, also tend to make many gifts to give for Christmas, and every year I say we won’t, but it never works.  We always end up making something.  In recent years, this even included making the Christmas cards.  I miss that so many people don’t give Christmas cards anymore, as they are like a gift in and of themselves, but it won’t stop me from spreading Christmas cheer when and where I can, and many of my old Christmas cards get displayed each year on long ribbons across my living room, a testament to the good will wished by all family and friends, both past and present.

Not long after the baking begins, the gifts get wrapped in expectation of the day and are placed under the glistening tree.  I always have a time keeping the dogs out of their gifts, and one year, our beagle, Bonnie, succeeded in unearthing her bone before it was time.  Dobby and Harry both have had the same technique: watch the tree each day, and as the day gets ever closer, begin by sticking a nose on the packaging, then begin the pawing, and finally pull off the bow. If you tell them that they are being bad and that they should wait, though, they just bounce down to the floor with their tails in the air, and look at you with a sideways glance, before taking off like maniacs around the first floor of the house.  

Finally, Christmas Eve arrives, and with it, the man in the big red suit.  Even for dogs, Santa Claus has a magical presence.  I’ve never seen them act sillier than when they hear those bells jingle on the front porch.  Each person gets a special present made by Santa, remembering everyone by name, and giving everyone a hug and a pat on the head.  Then, as quick as he arrives, he leaves.  Everyone dives into the packages, peeling paper and untying bows. Weeks of waiting have finally paid off, and everyone is surprised and pleased with their haul. 

At the end of the night, everyone goes home, the animals, both wild and domestic, get extra treats, both this day and the next, and I finally snuff out the candles, which have burned through the night, at the base of my statue of St. Mary and around my advent wreath.  I do a quick sweep around the floor to make sure I save all the ribbons and bows for the next year, but on Christmas Day, and for the next week, it will be a time to relax, watch Christmas shows, and enjoy our time together as a family, unfettered by workdays and with no place to go but the snowy hills outside.

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a Good Night!