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Every year at Thanksgiving my mother goes through her annual fret over her Christmas tree. She wonders whether she should keep her big tree, or get a small table top tree, which would be easier to put up and take down.
Easier for whom? You must understand that my sister Amy and I, along with our husbands, put Mom's tree up, string the lights, hang most of the ornaments, then take the whole thing down in January. Mom watches from the back of the room, her head tilted to one side, commenting that the tree is leaning just a bit, or that there's a light out on that string in back. I know now what my dad always muttered under his breath as he untangled the strings of old lights. I find myself doing the same muttering. But after all of the lights and gold balls are hung, we all begin to unwrap Gram's ornaments. She hangs the special ornaments, retelling the stories about each one, stories that my children and nieces love to hear.
Christmas trees are probably the most well known symbol of Christmas. They have been used for centuries, and can be found in all corners of the world. Christmas trees can be harvested from a tree farm or bought, boxed, at the store. They have been made of plastic, aluminum, or feathers. They are made in Korea, Taiwan, and Hong Kong, and grown in our own states. You can get the traditional green, or opt for a tree that is blue, white, silver, frosted, or even fiber optic.
The term "Christmas tree" is a much beloved one, conjuring images of presents and snow and family. There is much history behind the Christmas tree, as well as many beautiful legends surrounding it.
Integrated into our modern Christmas tree customs are ancient Egyptian and Roman traditions, medieval pagan rituals, early Christian practices, and Victorian nostalgia. It is known that early Egyptians, on the shortest day of winter, would bring green palms into their homes to symbolize life's triumph over death. In the middle ages Romans celebrated the Paradise Tree. Actors would portray the fall of Adam and Eve, with the evergreen standing for Paradise and man's fall, but also the promise of salvation.
In the 16th century the first official Christmas tree was recorded at Strasbourg, Germany. The tradition of the Christmas tree was brought to the United States by Hessian soldiers hired to fight for England in the Revolutionary War. That tradition was further spread in the 1830's by German settlers in Pennsylvania. In 1841 Prince Albert set the first English Christmas tree at Windsor Castle for the holiday pleasure of his wife, Queen Victoria.
As the history of the Christmas tree has been documented for years, many legends have arisen regarding the origin of the Christmas tree. One oft repeated legend tells the tale of St. Boniface, a missionary who spread Christianity throughour France and Germany in the 700's. This story tells that St. Boniface came upon a group of folks who had tied a child to an oak tree as a human sacrifice to their pagan god, Thor. To save the child, St. Boniface felled this oak with one blow. As the tree split, a beautiful young fir tree sprang forth. St. Boniface used this instance to show these simple people how the branches of the fir made an arrow pointing to heaven, and that the fir is a holy tree, a symbol of the Christ Child and promise of eternal life. St. Boniface instructed them to take the evergreen into their homes and to surround it with gifts. This legend is said to be the origin of the Christian tradition of the Christmas tree.
Another beautiful legend of the Christmas tree depicts the Holy Family's flight to Egypt. As Joseph and Mary were pursued by Herod's soldiers, who had instructions to capture and return the Infant Jesus to Herod, the Holy Family was often given shelter by various plants. When Mary became too weary to travel, they stopped at the edge of a forest. A gnarled old pine tree invited the Holy Family to rest within its trunk. The tree closed its branches and kept Mary, Jesus, and Joseph safe. Upon leaving, the Christ Child put His hand in blessing upon the staunch pine. The imprint of Baby Jesus' hand remained as a sign of his gratitude. Legend says that to this day the print of Jesus' hand is visible within the fruit of this evergreen, the pinecone.
These beautiful traditions and legends of the Christmas tree have been handed down through the ages. The Christmas tree remains the centerpiece of many holiday celebrations. In some homes, such as my mom's, the tree is a gorgeous artificial tree, kept stored to be reused year after year. Some families choose to put up a real tree. Tree lots spring up on parking lots at Thanksgiving. Some people trek to tree farms, hiking the forest to choose and chop down their own tree. For every real tree harvested, two or three seedlings are planted in its place. One acre of a tree farm produces enough oxygen for 18 people. The top Christmas tree producing states are Oregon, Michigan, Pennsylvania, California, and North Carolina. Among the top selling varieties of trees are the balsam fir, Douglas fir, Fraser fir, and Scotch pine. A natural tree brings into the home the true scent and atmosphere of Christmas.
The use of the evergreen tree as a holiday decoration isn't even exclusive to Christian religions. Many Jewish families use the pine tree as a seasonal decoration, hanging snowmen or other winter symbols as ornaments. The pine tree is considered by many to be a "safe" symbol of the winter holidays. Many civic organizations decorate evergreens as a way of celebrating the season of Christmas in a secular fashion. The evergreen tree can be considered a symbol of endurance, a sign of nature's beauty surviving the harsh cold of winter.
For centuries the evergreen tree has been a part of winter celebrations. This beautiful tradition, older than Christianity and not exclusive to any one religion, remains a firmly established part of our holiday custom.
For as long as I can remember, Mom's tree has been a part of my Christmas celebration. I guess even the mutterings, the tangled lights, and the overall craziness of setting up mom's tree is part of my holiday preperation. I know that each year my children and my nieces wait for Gram to start unwrapping her special ornaments. They know some of the stories by heart, and each child has a favorite. Mom can flirt with the idea of a little tree, but we all know that it won't happen. Christmas wouldn't be the same for any of us without the big tree at Gram's.
Santa Claus is real. And this is his true story.
Born nearly 2000 years ago, not too long after the days that Jesus Christ walked the earth, Nicholas was born to wealthy parents in a tiny village in the country we today call Turkey.
Though Nicholas was a child of privilege, he was raised a Christian and at a very young age was devoted to the faith.
Nicholas' parents died while he was yet a boy. And not knowing what to do with himself or the fortune he inherited, he turned to his Bible and read the words of admonishment that Christ gave to a wealthy man: "Sell all thou hath and give it to the poor and follow me".
Nicholas went to his village priest, confessed his sins and expressed the desires of his heart. He wished to become a priest.
Because he was an orphan, the priest took him in. And soon he found that Nicholas was no ordinary boy. Legend tells the story of a young Nicholas visiting the Holy Land with his village priest. On the return voyage, over stormy waters, their ship was cast about and all aboard feared for their lives. Nicholas steadfastly prayed for the safety of the passengers and crew. His faith astonished those with him as the storm passed and the waters calmed.
The village priest was fond of Nicholas. But he knew Nicholas lacked the education and the credentials necessary to become a priest. He would need a miracle if it was to happen. And a miracle is just what he got.
In the not too distant city of Myra, the Bishop of the church passed away. As the authorities of the church assembled to consider his replacement, Nicholas was there. The man considered wisest amongst the authorities had a dream and was visited by a heavenly messenger. He inquired of the angel "Who should the new Bishop be?". The angel said that if the gathered authorities would just wait by the door of the church they should select the first person named Nicholas to walk through the doors. The church authorities had their answer, and Nicholas had his miracle and was named the youngest bishop of the church ever on record.
As a young Bishop, Nicholas was fearless in his defense of the faith. He became known as an outspoken caretaker of the people of his flock and as one very close to God, due to his faith. When the citizens of Myra came to him to complain of a difficult tax burden, he approached the Emperor for relief. Constantine, who was not Christian and who had previously cast Nicholas into prison for his vigorous public defense of Christianity, wrote a decree lowering the tax due to Bishop Nicholas' pleas on behalf of the people.
Bishop Nicholas took the written decree and cast it upon the waters towards the city of Myra. Sometime later, the finance ministers from Rome met with Constantine to change his mind about the tax. Constantine called Nicholas before him and asked for the written decree back. When Nicholas declared that he had cast the decree upon the water and that the change to the law had already taken affect, Constantine did not believe him. He sent a runner to Myra who returned a few days later to confirm that all Nicholas had said was true.
Nicholas was beloved of the people of Myra for his kindness especially to children. One such deed became a legend that has survived for centuries and is celebrated even now in a variety of cultures. In his town where he was Bishop, Nicholas once gave an anonymous gift to a man with three daughters. The family was destitute of means. The custom of the time was that each daughter would need to be provided with a dowry in order to marry. Because they were poor, the father of the three daughters was contemplating selling his children into slavery.
Nicholas heard of their plight and on a dark night soon after the eldest daughter came to marrying age, he tossed a small bag of gold through an open window (and some say he tossed it down the chimney), sparing her a life of misery.
As the second daughter came of age he repeated the deed, again doing so anonymously.
As the third daughter came of age the father waited up nights to catch the gift-giver in order to express his gratitude. His persistence paid off as he caught Bishop Nicholas in the act.
This story is recounted in many lands, although some of the details change from one telling to another. Some say it was not bags of gold but rather balls of gold that Nicholas left. Some say he tossed them into the chimney where they landed in the hanging stockings or the drying shoes of the unmarried girls. That is why some, to remember this event,celebrate Christmas was an orange in the toe of a stocking.
Nicholas was known for many such deeds. Miracles were attributed to the Bishop of Myra because of his great faith.
Some were individual stories, like the man with three daughters. Others were stories of Bishop Nicholas acting on behalf of all the people. One very famous story had to do with a terrible season of famine in Myra. The drought was so bad the people there were starting to go hungry.
Bishop Nicholas approached the captains of the ships ported in Myra, for he knew the ships contained grain destined for faraway places. But the captains were reluctant to help. They were paid for full cargos and they explained to Bishop Nicholas that they had to deliver them as they received them. Nicholas promised them that if they would share but a small part from each ship, the credit they required for full delivery would be granted them. They agreed, and Nicholas took the food to the people and fed them for two years with it, even having enough left over to plant for seed when the famine passed.
But when the ships took to sea and arrived at their destinations, the captains of the ships found their holds full upon arrival and declared the event a miracle. This caused the reputation of Nicholas to spread. He became, over time, the patron saint of children, of sailors, of the unmarried, and of innocents wrongly accused or persecuted.
So famous did Nicholas become that no other name in the church, save Jesus and the Virgin Mary only, was so widely known or respected. More than 2000 churches in the Old World bore the name of Saint Nicholas. And his legend only grew as the centuries passed.
This is just the beginning of the story of Santa Claus. The genesis of the man we anticipate each Christmas came from the good Bishop of Myra -- a man in red robes, a man with a long beard, and a man known for anonymous giving -- especially to children.
Like many internationally famous individuals, Santa reached his greatest prominence far from the borders of his original hometown. He started in what is today the Middle East nation of Turkey as Saint Nicholas, archbishop of Myra. How he ended up at the North Pole as jolly old St. Nick is lost to the dry pages of history yet unwritten and likely unknown. But let it suffice to be say that the red suited one had to travel about as far as any person in history before he settled into his final career.
Little is actually known about the historical Saint Nicholas, but the legends that surround him provide the template for the character we now know as Santa Claus.
What we do know is this: he was born around the year 245 A.D. to wealthy parents. He devoted his life to the church, eventually becoming the archbishop of Myra. He was tortured for his beliefs until Emperor Constantine changed the official religion of the Roman Empire to Christianity. And he died on December 6, sometime around 350 A.D. The Catholic Church has set aside that date as a feast day in his honor.
But even much of this information is suspect. The main source is a biography that was written by a monk some five centuries after he died.
More important then the facts, though, are the legends that have grown up around him. Most of these are the run of the mill saintly miracles -- such as him calming a particularly nasty storm. But there is also a saintly tale of Saint Nicholas resurrecting three boys who had been murdered and then pickled. (Let's hope the killer went through the trouble of pickling in order to hide his crime and not to keep them fresh for winter consumption).
Still, there are several stories that exist that show Saint Nicholas performing acts that we now come to associate with the lovable figure of Santa Claus. One of the most interesting of these tells of his convincing a group of thieves to return their stolen goods -- thus causing him to become the patron saint of thieves (not patron saint in that he helps them rob but, rather, in that he helps them repent). This seems fitting considering Santa Claus, who sneaks into our houses in the wee hours of Christmas morning and leaves us presents, is a sort of anti-thief, undoing the deeds of those nefarious people Saint Nicholas is said to look after.
The most famous tale, though, recounts the story of a once wealthy businessman, who, having lost his fortune, decided to sell his three daughters into prostitution to raise some money. Hearing of this, Saint Nicholas went to the man's house at night and threw three bags of coins into the man's window, one for each of the daughter's dowries. The young women were thus able to find good husbands and avoid the degrading lifestyle to which they seemed destined.
Cementing the connection to the modern day Santa Claus, some versions of this story have Saint Nicholas arriving with the third daughter's gift bag but, finding the window shut, was forced to drop her coins down the chimney and into a stocking hanging on the mantle to dry. This not only seems physically unlikely, but so absurdly similar to today's popular Christmas traditions that it sounds almost certainly false.
The legend of Santa Claus grows with time. Whether your own belief is that he is real or that he remains a growing figure of modern mythology, there is no doubt that Santa Claus impacts society with each passing season. His name is associated with both good and evil. As are so many honored names of legend.
Clement Clarke Moore was one of New York's wealthiest men. And clearly, one of it's most highly educated.
He was born in 1779 to Benjamin Moore, a patriot and and Episcopalian minister. His mother was Charity Clarke, a fiesty and ardent supporter of the American cause. He inherited from her side of the family a good portion of land that would someday become the Chelsea District in New York City.
For young Clement C. Moore, his life's work did not lay in the ministry as it did his father. He had a well developed love of language and pursued the learning of ancient dialects of Hebrew, Greek and German. But he was a man of profound attachment to family, home and church. He donated property and for a time assumed the entire debt of Saint Peter's Church.
He married a woman named Catherine Elizabeth and was shamelessly devoted to her. While courting her, Moore wrote to his future mother-in-law that he would carve her name into trees. Together, they had nine children. When her life unexpectedly was taken while she was yet 30 years old, he was devastated. But he assumed her duties and enjoyed fond relationships with his children and grandchildren.
It is not hard to imagine then what transpired that snowy Christmas Eve in 1822. Catherine sent her husband out into the elements to get one more turkey, which she and the children were preparing as a donation to the poor. Their home, with six children at the time, was one filled with love and warmth and tradition.
Clement ventured into town, his coachman being a jolly, round fellow with a long white beard and a most cheerful disposition. After he purchased the needed turkey from Jefferson's Market, with sleigh bells merrily ringing in his ears as the snow fell that Christmas Eve day, he composed a short poem.
Moore returned home with the turkey and the family traditions of Christmas took hold. He added to them by delighting his young children that night by the fire with the first reading of "The Night Before Christmas", the poem he had composed that very afternoon. Then, he tucked his handwritten copy of his creation away and gave it no further thought.
But his poem had made a powerful impression upon his children, who some months later shared it with a visiting family friend. This same friend, not knowing that Moore's sole intent was to keep the poem private, sent it to the Troy Sentinel, where it was published anonymously just before Christmas in 1823.
The poem quickly became beloved of the public and spread Moore's name around the globe. It shaped the imagination of who Santa Claus is and what he looks like. Moore's work provided inspiration for Thomas Nast, an illustrator of political cartoons who gained notoriety as well for his early wood engravings of Christmas scenes published in Harper's Weekly.
By 1844, Moore included A Visit from Saint Nicholas in a published collection of his poetic writings. He was a giant in his community, a trustee of Columbia University, well known in academia for his scholarship in ancient languages and his real estate dealings shaped modern-day Manhatten. But the world knows him and holds him dear for the "trifle", as he called it, that he penned for his children on a chilly sleigh ride back home from the market on Christmas Eve of 1822.
Here is the text of A Visit from Saint Nicholas, or, as most know it, Twas the Night Before Christmas:
'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
in hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there.
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
while visions of sugar plums danced in their heads.
And Mama in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap,
had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap.
When out on the roof there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
tore open the shutter, and threw up the sash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
gave the lustre of midday to objects below,
when, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
but a miniature sleigh and eight tiny reindeer.
With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.
More rapid than eagles, his courses they came,
and he whistled and shouted and called them by name:
"Now Dasher! Now Dancer!
Now, Prancer and Vixen!
On, Comet! On, Cupid!
On, Donner and Blitzen!
To the top of the porch!
To the top of the wall!
Now dash away! Dash away!
Dash away all!"
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
when they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky
so up to the house-top the courses they flew,
with the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
the prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my head and was turning around,
down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.
He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
and his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot.
A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,
and he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.
His eyes--how they twinkled! His dimples, how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
and the beard on his chin was as white as the snow.
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
and the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
that shook when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly.
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
and I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself.
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head
soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
and filled all the stockings, then turned with a jerk.
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
and giving a nod, up the chimney he rose.
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, 'ere he drove out of sight,
Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!
Decorating the Christmas Tree: A Timeless Tradition
by Amy S. Jorgensen
Enter any department store from now until New Year's and aisles packed with plastic ornaments, glistening garland, and blinking lights will greet you at every turn. What was once a simple family tradition has become a multimillion-dollar industry with decorations becoming more elaborate and costly each year. Where did this tradition begin and how did it become such an integral part of the holiday festivities?
Like the majority of practices associated with Christmas, the tradition arose from the intermingling of ancient Roman beliefs and the spreading Christian religion. Early Christians believed certain trees flowered unseasonably on Christmas Eve as homage to Jesus' birth. This belief combined with the Roman practice of decorating their homes with greenery for the New Year formed the basis of our modern fascination with icicles and fancy angel tree toppers.
The decorating of various structures and trees has been recorded in Europe from the 17th century on, but the first written account of a "Christmas tree" did not appear until 1605. According to John Matthew's The Winter Solstice, an anonymous German citizen that year recorded trees being decorated with "roses cut out of many colored paper, apples, wafers, gold-foil, [and] sweets". What about chaser lights and oodles of wrapped gifts? It was more than 100 years later when Professor Karl Gottfried Kissling of the University of Wittenburg wrote of people adding candles for decorations and placing children's wrapped branches around the bottom of the small indoor trees.
Even though the practice was initially condemned by religious leaders, it spread from Germany to Finland through Norway and Denmark. In 1840, Queen Victoria and Prince Albert of England endorsed the tradition by displaying their own ornately decorated tree at their palace. By the early 1900s, decorating the tree was as much a part of Christmas as Santa Claus and opening presents.
Of course, the early trees were decorated differently than today's evergreens. Early ornaments were usually hand-crafted or edible. Nuts, candies, fruits, and pieces of colored paper were the most common. The average modern tree is decorated with a combination of store-bought ornaments and family memorabilia with several strings of lights strewn over the branches instead of candles, but no matter how the tree is decorated it still symbolizes a timeless Christmas tradition of families gathered together exchanging presents and love.
The Gift Of Magi
by O. Henry
One dollar and eighty-seven cents. That was all. And sixty cents of it was in pennies. Pennies saved one and two at a time by bulldozing the grocer and the vegetable man and the butcher until one's cheeks burned with the silent imputation of parsimony that such close dealing implied. Three times Della counted it. One dollar and eighty- seven cents. And the next day would be Christmas.
There was clearly nothing to do but flop down on the shabby little couch and howl. So Della did it. Which instigates the moral reflection that life is made up of sobs, sniffles, and smiles, with sniffles predominating.
While the mistress of the home is gradually subsiding from the first stage to the second, take a look at the home. A furnished flat at $8 per week. It did not exactly beggar description, but it certainly had that word on the lookout for the mendicancy squad.
In the vestibule below was a letter-box into which no letter would go, and an electric button from which no mortal finger could coax a ring. Also appertaining thereunto was a card bearing the name "Mr. James Dillingham Young."
The "Dillingham" had been flung to the breeze during a former period of prosperity when its possessor was being paid $30 per week. Now, when the income was shrunk to $20, though, they were thinking seriously of contracting to a modest and unassuming D. But whenever Mr. James Dillingham Young came home and reached his flat above he was called "Jim" and greatly hugged by Mrs. James Dillingham Young, already introduced to you as Della. Which is all very good.
Della finished her cry and attended to her cheeks with the powder rag. She stood by the window and looked out dully at a gray cat walking a gray fence in a gray backyard. Tomorrow would be Christmas Day, and she had only $1.87 with which to buy Jim a present. She had been saving every penny she could for months, with this result. Twenty dollars a week doesn't go far. Expenses had been greater than she had calculated. They always are. Only $1.87 to buy a present for Jim. Her Jim. Many a happy hour she had spent planning for something nice for him. Something fine and rare and sterling--something just a little bit near to being worthy of the honor of being owned by Jim.
There was a pier-glass between the windows of the room. Perhaps you have seen a pier-glass in an $8 flat. A very thin and very agile person may, by observing his reflection in a rapid sequence of longitudinal strips, obtain a fairly accurate conception of his looks. Della, being slender, had mastered the art.
Suddenly she whirled from the window and stood before the glass. her eyes were shining brilliantly, but her face had lost its color within twenty seconds. Rapidly she pulled down her hair and let it fall to its full length.
Now, there were two possessions of the James Dillingham Youngs in which they both took a mighty pride. One was Jim's gold watch that had been his father's and his grandfather's. The other was Della's hair. Had the queen of Sheba lived in the flat across the airshaft, Della would have let her hair hang out the window some day to dry just to depreciate Her Majesty's jewels and gifts. Had King Solomon been the janitor, with all his treasures piled up in the basement, Jim would have pulled out his watch every time he passed, just to see him pluck at his beard from envy.
So now Della's beautiful hair fell about her rippling and shining like a cascade of brown waters. It reached below her knee and made itself almost a garment for her. And then she did it up again nervously and quickly. Once she faltered for a minute and stood still while a tear or two splashed on the worn red carpet.
On went her old brown jacket; on went her old brown hat. With a whirl of skirts and with the brilliant sparkle still in her eyes, she fluttered out the door and down the stairs to the street.
Where she stopped the sign read: "Mne. Sofronie. Hair Goods of All Kinds." One flight up Della ran, and collected herself, panting. Madame, large, too white, chilly, hardly looked the "Sofronie."
"Will you buy my hair?" asked Della.
"I buy hair," said Madame. "Take yer hat off and let's have a sight at the looks of it."
Down rippled the brown cascade.
"Twenty dollars," said Madame, lifting the mass with a practised hand.
"Give it to me quick," said Della.
Oh, and the next two hours tripped by on rosy wings. Forget the hashed metaphor. She was ransacking the stores for Jim's present.
She found it at last. It surely had been made for Jim and no one else. There was no other like it in any of the stores, and she had turned all of them inside out. It was a platinum fob chain simple and chaste in design, properly proclaiming its value by substance alone and not by meretricious ornamentation--as all good things should do. It was even worthy of The Watch. As soon as she saw it she knew that it must be Jim's. It was like him. Quietness and value--the description applied to both. Twenty-one dollars they took from her for it, and she hurried home with the 87 cents. With that chain on his watch Jim might be properly anxious about the time in any company. Grand as the watch was, he sometimes looked at it on the sly on account of the old leather strap that he used in place of a chain.
When Della reached home her intoxication gave way a little to prudence and reason. She got out her curling irons and lighted the gas and went to work repairing the ravages made by generosity added to love. Which is always a tremendous task, dear friends--a mammoth task.
Within forty minutes her head was covered with tiny, close-lying curls that made her look wonderfully like a truant schoolboy. She looked at her reflection in the mirror long, carefully, and critically.
"If Jim doesn't kill me," she said to herself, "before he takes a second look at me, he'll say I look like a Coney Island chorus girl. But what could I do--oh! what could I do with a dollar and eighty- seven cents?"
At 7 o'clock the coffee was made and the frying-pan was on the back of the stove hot and ready to cook the chops.
Jim was never late. Della doubled the fob chain in her hand and sat on the corner of the table near the door that he always entered. Then she heard his step on the stair away down on the first flight, and she turned white for just a moment. She had a habit for saying little silent prayer about the simplest everyday things, and now she whispered: "Please God, make him think I am still pretty."
The door opened and Jim stepped in and closed it. He looked thin and very serious. Poor fellow, he was only twenty-two--and to be burdened with a family! He needed a new overcoat and he was without gloves.
Jim stopped inside the door, as immovable as a setter at the scent of quail. His eyes were fixed upon Della, and there was an expression in them that she could not read, and it terrified her. It was not anger, nor surprise, nor disapproval, nor horror, nor any of the sentiments that she had been prepared for. He simply stared at her fixedly with that peculiar expression on his face.
Della wriggled off the table and went for him.
"Jim, darling," she cried, "don't look at me that way. I had my hair cut off and sold because I couldn't have lived through Christmas without giving you a present. It'll grow out again--you won't mind, will you? I just had to do it. My hair grows awfully fast. Say `Merry Christmas!' Jim, and let's be happy. You don't know what a nice-- what a beautiful, nice gift I've got for you."
"You've cut off your hair?" asked Jim, laboriously, as if he had not arrived at that patent fact yet even after the hardest mental labor.
"Cut it off and sold it," said Della. "Don't you like me just as well, anyhow? I'm me without my hair, ain't I?"
Jim looked about the room curiously.
"You say your hair is gone?" he said, with an air almost of idiocy.
"You needn't look for it," said Della. "It's sold, I tell you--sold and gone, too. It's Christmas Eve, boy. Be good to me, for it went for you. Maybe the hairs of my head were numbered," she went on with sudden serious sweetness, "but nobody could ever count my love for you. Shall I put the chops on, Jim?"
Out of his trance Jim seemed quickly to wake. He enfolded his Della. For ten seconds let us regard with discreet scrutiny some inconsequential object in the other direction. Eight dollars a week or a million a year--what is the difference? A mathematician or a wit would give you the wrong answer. The magi brought valuable gifts, but that was not among them. This dark assertion will be illuminated later on.
Jim drew a package from his overcoat pocket and threw it upon the table.
"Don't make any mistake, Dell," he said, "about me. I don't think there's anything in the way of a haircut or a shave or a shampoo that could make me like my girl any less. But if you'll unwrap that package you may see why you had me going a while at first."
White fingers and nimble tore at the string and paper. And then an ecstatic scream of joy; and then, alas! a quick feminine change to hysterical tears and wails, necessitating the immediate employment of all the comforting powers of the lord of the flat.
For there lay The Combs--the set of combs, side and back, that Della had worshipped long in a Broadway window. Beautiful combs, pure tortoise shell, with jewelled rims--just the shade to wear in the beautiful vanished hair. They were expensive combs, she knew, and her heart had simply craved and yearned over them without the least hope of possession. And now, they were hers, but the tresses that should have adorned the coveted adornments were gone.
But she hugged them to her bosom, and at length she was able to look up with dim eyes and a smile and say: "My hair grows so fast, Jim!"
And them Della leaped up like a little singed cat and cried, "Oh, oh!"
Jim had not yet seen his beautiful present. She held it out to him eagerly upon her open palm. The dull precious metal seemed to flash with a reflection of her bright and ardent spirit.
"Isn't it a dandy, Jim? I hunted all over town to find it. You'll have to look at the time a hundred times a day now. Give me your watch. I want to see how it looks on it."
Instead of obeying, Jim tumbled down on the couch and put his hands under the back of his head and smiled.
"Dell," said he, "let's put our Christmas presents away and keep 'em a while. They're too nice to use just at present. I sold the watch to get the money to buy your combs. And now suppose you put the chops on."
The magi, as you know, were wise men--wonderfully wise men--who brought gifts to the Babe in the manger. They invented the art of giving Christmas presents. Being wise, their gifts were no doubt wise ones, possibly bearing the privilege of exchange in case of duplication. And here I have lamely related to you the uneventful chronicle of two foolish children in a flat who most unwisely sacrificed for each other the greatest treasures of their house. But in a last word to the wise of these days let it be said that of all who give gifts these two were the wisest. O all who give and receive gifts, such as they are wisest. Everywhere they are wisest. They are the magi.
Christmas Bells
By Abby Westover
Long ago people believed that they could use bells to frighten away evil spirits. Bells were a simple form of noisemaking. They could be easily obtained or made and everyone knew how to use them. Many people thought that as winter began, evil spirits would come to harm them. So during the dark days after the harvest or the hunt, people would engage in ceremonies to keep bad things from happening to them while they waited for Spring and warmer days.
The tradition of using noisemakers like bells during these times carried over into the celebration of Christmas. But instead of making noise to keep away evil things, people made noise to celebrate something happy.
In many villages, there was a church and most churches had a bell. When something important was happening - such as remembering the birth of Jesus Christ - they would ring the bell.
You might hear this saying at Christmas: "Every time a bell rings, an angel gets his wings". Most people remember this saying from the movie "It's a Wonderful Life". But over a hundred years ago, this was a very common saying amongst kids.
Back in those days, kids believed that making noise was just a part of Christmas. And bells were an easy way to make that noise. Bells were inexpensive musical instruments that people could take with them caroling or wassailing and almost every family had one or more. Bells also provided a bright and cheery sound and were acceptable to parents as proper tools to celebrate and make noise at Christmas.
Bells play an important part in other areas of celebrating Christmas. Some people probably picture Santa's reindeer with bells draped over them for decoration. Santa might also use bells to help find the reindeer in the dark or in the fog or snow.
And bells have always had a place in Christmas songs. The famous Christmas hymn I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day began as a poem written by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow in the 1860's. The poem was actually about the tragedy one felt during the civil war. Some of the lesser known verses go like this:
Then from each black accursed mouth
The cannon thundered in the South,
And with the sound
The carols drowned
Of peace on earth, goodwill to men!
It was as if an earthquake rent
The hearthstones of a continent
And made forlorn
The households born
Of peace on earth, goodwill to men!
And in despair I bowed my head;
"There is no peace on earth," I said;
"For hate is strong,
And mocks the song
Of peace on earth, goodwill to men!"
Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
"God is not dead; nor doth he sleep!
The Wrong shall fail,
The Right prevail,
With peace on earth, goodwill to men!"
Christmas bells are remembered in classic holiday songs such as "Jingle Bells", "Silver Bells", and "Christmas Bells are Ringing". Bells make a happy sound and are enjoyed in "ringing out the old and ringing in the new" each season as has been done in times past.
How Santa Does It
By Elf Ed Zachary
One of the most common questions we get around here goes along the lines of "How is it possible that Santa Claus can visit the house of every child all in one night?"
When kids ask this my initial response is "Sheesh, what kind of kid are you? Can’t you just accept that he does it and be happy?" But Santa heard me say that once and now he won’t let me say it any more. So I started telling kids that it’s just magic. But Santa didn’t like that answer either.
What does he expect me to do with these whiny questions? Why this and how that? Why? How? Why? How? It’s like the constant bark of a wolf. Pass me a squirt gun already.
I mean -- does the Big Guy actually expect me to explain the complex logistics of getting something like a billion toys delivered around the world in a single night?
Evidently he does.
~ The Big Secret ~
OK, so here’s the big secret: Location.
That’s right, it’s not magic. It’s the first three rules of retail. It’s why you’re at a comfortable climate and I’m at the North Pole. It’s why Jackson won the battle of New Orleans and the British…well, -- you get the point. Let’s just say that Santa picked his spot a long time ago, and picked it well.
First consider this: when you are at the North Pole, every direction is south. It’s true. The sun rises and sets in the south here. You can have a perfectly round house, made entirely of glass, and all the windows face south. Look at a globe, and I think you’ll get the picture.
Santa simply sets off on Christmas Eve and travels in every direction at once, simply by heading south. How quickly would your errands get done if they all lay in one direction? Trust me, it makes a big difference.
Secondly, and most importantly, are the time zones. Get your globe back out and have a look at those lines that run north and south. These are called meridians and time zones are based (for the most part) on meridians.
And guess what?
All meridians meet and form a point at the poles. That is to say the North Pole is in every time zone at once. Not only that, it’s also in none of them. (You following this? Magic is starting to sound better and better, isn’t it?).
Santa Claus can leave home at noon on the 26th and still be out of your house before you wipe the sleep from your eyes on Christmas morning. And take time off at every house to have a couple cookies. If he ever falls behind all he has to do is go home and then head south again.
See? Everything has a simple, logical explanation when you take time to look at the facts.
Elf Ed Zachary works at the North Pole Public Relations Department as a columnist for the North Pole Gazette. His views are usually stated rather bluntly. But we love him anyway. You can reach Elf Ed via email at elfed@mymerrychristmas.com.