December 24, 1999

We in the Hahn household are now muddling through the awkward Christmas years, having no little kiddies in the nuclear unit or even in the California branch of the extended fam. Alex is 17 and twenty-year-old Spencer is up from San Diego State for the holidays. They're both way too young to provide us with grandchildren and way too old to qualify for Santa's list, but I captured some of the olden days' magic while decorating the tree, anyway.

Evocative as Proust's madeleines, the kids' handmade ornaments of yuletides past transported me back to their early years and I slipped into a reverie. Once in, I kept falling farther and farther back, eventually to my ninth Christmas when we lived next door to my grandparents.

Back then our closest rival to Santa fever was awaiting the December 24th arrival of Aunt Bev, Uncle Nik, and their 4 boys and one girl. Although at the time I didn't understand why it took them so long to get there from across the state, looking back I'm amazed they made it at all. We'd start the vigil after dinner, but I'd usually nod off only to be awakened by the sounds of them bursting out of their car, whereupon they seemed to change from a compressed mass to solid individual beings ready for action.

As a veteran mother of two sons, it's hard to believe that once upon a time I could be quite fussy. Having just one sister, we were fairly well-civilized as households go. But my four boy-cousins were maniacs who'd sweep through our homes like a team of deranged clowns.

Naturally I marveled at the action/adventure they generated, but I thoroughly enjoyed cousin Mary, who craved the exposure to our girls-only domain. We would spend hours trying on Grandma's jewelry and make-up from her fancy dressing chest and then rummage through her closet for old hats, shoes, and accessories. She was from an era actually to have used and saved genuine hat boxes still containing vintage hats with face nets, feathers, and trims. And then there was the steamer trunk, Victrola, and neat junk up in the attic.

It was kid heaven, but after a few days, about when I'd begin to obsess about my washcloth being moved, Bev and Nik would sense the ebbing joy and she'd announce their impending departure, adding that we "probably cheered" when they left. Finally one year my mother couldn't resist the temptation, so she cued my dad, my sister, and me to break into applause as they pulled out of the driveway. After that, the send-off was a family Christmas tradition. Here's hoping you enjoy your own family holiday traditions and have a wonderful Christmas!

© 1999 Cynthia Hahn