Dear Dad...

 I wrote somewhere before that I used to talk to my Dad on Christmas Eve when my [ex] husband was on duty as a Firefighter/Paramedic.

One of us would call the other and I'd sit in front of the Christmas Tree and gaze at it while we talked. I'd tell him about our latest Charlie Brown Tree and he'd laugh. We usually got a tree we could stick in the corner and not decorate around the whole thing. It worked for us. One Christmas my ex sliced through his ring finger--> down to the bone while using a sharp knife to cut the tree from the top of the Isuzu Trooper.

That warranted a trip to the ER. Neighbors watched the kids, I watched them sew ex hubby up in layers. That was a memorable Christmas. We didn't have much money then and things were pretty tight.

But the thing was, we wanted to make Christmas magical for the kids. Always. 

Still, I'd have a glass of wine and talk to Dad. I described the tree and what we did for the gifts. We discussed his life, my life, and everything in between.

I sat and sipped with the phone cradled on my shoulder [it was attached to the wall! Remember that? That was before they even made cordless phones!] . 

The tree lights twinkled and I admired the colored paper chain that the boys had made in school. The boys' had decorations they'd made in grade school that graced the tree. At the time I don't think I appreciated them as much as I would now.

We talked of life. We talked of marriage. We talked of love. Dad had an undying love for Mom even if she didn't reciprocate. That's life. He told me about his mistakes and regrets he had in his life. I told him about how much my boys meant to me. I told him about my relationships with the horses, goats, and chickens we had.

We talked for a long time. 

It was our traditional Christmas Eve chat.

I even continued it in my second marriage and move to this little farm. 

Dad got a kick out of hearing the fact that I'd go out and talk with the mules and donkeys on Christmas Eve and celebrate their birthdays on New Year's Day.

It has been many years since I've talked to him. But in my mind I still call.

Dad.
I collect horse ornaments. They are beautiful. Not as beautiful as the paper chains.

Dad.
I still go out and talk to the mules on Christmas Eve. I only have a few of them now. They like their carrots.

Dad.
I think of you on each Christmas Eve even though it has been many years since we talked. I imagine what our conversations would be like now.

Dad.
I still miss you even if it is almost 20 years since you died.

Dad.
Since I still miss you. I will have conversations in my head every Christmas Eve and I will tell you what is on my tree.

Dad.
I am happy and content. Did we ever think that would happen? Well it did.

Dad.
I still miss you every day.

Merry Merry.

Christmas Eve Magic....by Sunshine

🎄

 

She says she heard of a story that the animals can talk at the stroke of midnight on Christmas Eve. The animals are able to rejoice at the miracle that happened on that night long ago. Her Grandmother used to tell the story about the hen who talked to the rest of the animals in the barn....

Or...was it is simply Christmas Magic.

Her Grandmother was right you know. We can talk for a moment at the stroke of midnight. But we can talk at other times if our humans care to listen carefully.

She came to us all bundled against the chill and the damp air this night. She opened that gate and stood quietly under the moonlight. 

I walked up.

She pulled her mitten off and reached for my neck. I moved in close and breathed softly on her shoulder and then put my muzzle next to her ear.

"Believe," I whispered, "Believe." She sighed and slowly put her arms around my neck and gave me a long endearing hug.

She may have murmured something into my fur. It sounded like, "I do." 

We stood like that in the silver light for a few minutes. Clouds moved across the sky and the silver light blinked out. I heard her catch her breath and then she stood back.

The spell was broken and I blinked and snorted. 

But she KNEW. She knew. I saw tears of joy in her eye and I know at that moment our souls had touched and we'd always know.

The Animals’ Christmas Eve

In the barn on Christmas Eve, after all the people leave,

The animals in voices low, remember Christmas long ago.

One small hen, upon her nest, softly clucks to all the rest:

“Little chicks, come gather near. A wondrous story you will hear.”

The Animals’ Christmas Eve, a Little Golden Book, by Gale Wiersum and illustrated by Jim Robison.

Ghosts of Christmas Eve

No matter what, Christmas brings about feelings of both joy and sadness for so many people. When I first met hubby, he said he didn't like Christmas very much. It reminded him of spending Christmas in Vietnam away from his family.

My mom would grouse often about Christmas for something that happened in her young life around that time of year.

Dad. Well, I don't recall Dad ever complaining about Christmas. He seemed to be enthralled with the lights and ideas of gifts for his family. He let mom take care of the shopping and wrapping, but he took so much joy in watching us on Christmas morning. I'm sure mom did too, but she was also in charge of doing all the cooking and prep work.

As a parent I rejoiced in seeing my kids open gifts and the surprise on their faces. 

Back then, when my ex was on duty as a firefighter we celebrated Christmas when he was able to be home. Santa made exceptions for Firefighters, you know.

On many Christmas Eve's when I was home alone with the kids, I'd pick up the phone and sit in front of the Charlie Brown Tree that was so lovingly decorated with paper rings and homemade ornaments along with regular glass balls. I'd call my father in Virginia and have a glass of wine while we chatted. I recall putting the glass up to my eyes to see the tree and lights through the wine and glass. It sparkled with magic.
I'd relate that to Dad and we'd talk about 'stuff'. Not important or life altering stuff, but just stuff. 

Now over 30 years later, I can look back on Christmas Memories and smile at them and feel a bit sad also.

I do miss those conversations with my Dad the most at night while sitting and looking at my Christmas decorations. I often have a pretend conversation with my Dad so he can catch up on all the latest in my life.

So my Dad is my Christmas Ghost. I want to share with him all the fun I have enjoying the lights, the trees, and of course the fun I have making 'scenes' to photograph. [Dad was my inspiration for photography].

We had long discussions on the use of light, focus, and composition.

From Promises to Keep:
Transiberian Orchestra known as TSO:

And so it's good that we remember
Just as soon as we've discovered
That the things we do in life
Will always end up touching others

Tonight, is no different. 

Christmas Cow

Many years ago I 'worked' on a dairy farm.  I helped out with the milking chores.  I worked with an old Farmer and often his grandson.

It was always a pleasant place to be in the winter.  The cows would stand and eat their feed as we milked.  The sounds of the cows chewing, the milker pumping, and the old radio cracking out country western music was comforting.

It was Christmas Eve and I asked old Farmer if Christmas Cow was going to visit.

He laughed at me and told me there was no such thing as Christmas Cow.

Of course there was, I insisted!  Cows had to have a Christmas too!

He shook his head and went on to place the milker on the next cow which was #13.  I called #13 Miss Piggy.  She was always a mess and not very easy to clean up.  She also loved to kick the milker off.

Old Farmer said no matter who he stuck in stall #13, they always ended up to be of awful attitude.

We finished up the milking and bedded down the cows.  I walked home to my place alone in the dark.

When I got to the apartment, I stared at the lonely 7" tree that had been given to me the farmer's wife.

I gathered the little tree up and walked back to the farm and without alerting old Farmer, I put the tree up in the bulk tank room.

I left a small wrapped package on a shelf next to the tree where old Farmer would come after he was done milking.  The tag said "To Farmer, From: Santa Cow."

I had some plastic holly I'd found and so I walked down to where #13, Miss Piggy was laying quietly.  I used a a bit of twine string to put the holly sprig on her stanchion.

I tied a bits of red ribbon in areas around the barn.

Satisfied with my work, I closed the barn door quietly on all the cows who were softly chewing their cuds and crept back out into the cold.

The next morning I showed up and began to help with chores.

Farmer turned on the music and Christmas tunes played softly.

We didn't say much.  I know he noticed the bits of red ribbon and had sneaked furtive glances at me.

He got to Miss Piggy, the infamous nasty #13.  She was not a mess.  Old Farmer's eyes widened as he put the milker on her.

He stood next to her waiting for her to start kicking.

Miss Piggy quietly chewed her cud and stood rock still through the whole process.

He pulled the milker off her and then noticed the Holly Sprig attached to the stanchion.

He looked at me and I shrugged.

I said, "Hmmm, Christmas Cow?"

He shook his head with a slight lopsided grin.

We finished chores and went into the bulk tank room.  After cleaning the lines old Farmer stopped and looked up at the shelf where a small present lay under the little tree.

Old Farmer picked it up and read the tag.

A bright and cheerful grin slowly passed over his face.

He winked at me and opened it.

"I believe a bit of a miracle worked in this barn last night," he finally said.  "#13 did not kick off her milker and she was not filthy.  I noticed there were little red ribbons around the barn and holly on Miss Piggy's stanchion."

I shrugged.

He smiled again.

"This was a miraculous Christmas Day," he said. "I truly think I believe in Christmas Cow!"