Warmth of Christmas

Christmas music. It puts us in the mood. It reminds us of childhood. Christmas carols are universal, many known ‘round the world. Music “speaks” to us, and not just Christmas music, all music has a voice. How else can we explain the explosive sales of MP3 players? People all around us are plugged into music. This week it was music that inspired my Reflections.

Growing up, one musical group, Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass, dominated the pile of record albums stored in our stereo console. It is possible we owned every one of their albums produced in the 60’s. The few other albums might have included Dean Martin, Perry Como, Bing Crosby, and some other crooners. Throw in an album or two by Henri Mancini or the Living Strings and you have the music I heard while growing up. It is no wonder then that I love the crooners, music with a Latin influence, or instrumental movie scores, and even light jazz. It is this last category that allowed me to float back to childhood just this week.

In an effort to reintroduce dating to our 26-year marriage, my husband took me to “A Big Band Christmas” held at our church, Good Shepherd Community Church. We were entertained but such Christmas favorites as “Silver Bells”, “White Christmas”, and a very entertaining jazz version of “Frosty the Snowman.” Each of the songs is familiar. There is not a particular memory attached to each one, but together they take me back to a time; a time where tradition ruled and the weeks before Christmas seemed to be the longest four weeks of the year. Mom endeavored to keep us five kids busy.

Decorating for the season was one of the first tasks completed at our house right after Thanksgiving. This typically took place the first full weekend of December. Decorations could not be put up until the weekly cleaning was complete. I remember stacking six Christmas albums into our stereo. This would provide just enough music to complete the cleaning and decorating tasks. Even today Herb Alpert can help inspire me to clean.

Albums included Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass Christmas, White Christmas: Bing Crosby, Spirit of Christmas: Living Strings, Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer: Gene Autry, Montavoni’s Christmas, and a few others. It was an eclectic group of musicians and vocalists but there was a theme, music from a time gone by.

While these were the songs of Christmas cleaning, another group of songs remind me of time spent watching Christmas variety programs with my dad. The Bob Hope Christmas Special has to be mentioned, but I don’t associate it with particular music of the season, just comedy sketches. That guy could make my dad laugh, not such an easy task.

Musically, the season is not complete without Dean Martin singing “Let It Snow”. For me, Dean Martin is remembered with a cigarette in one hand and a supposed drink in the other. I thought him an odd man and never cared much for his program, but there are a few songs that I love sung by Dean Martin.

Andy Williams Christmas Special was my favorite holiday program. “It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year” and “Happy Holidays” are just two of my favorites sung by Andy. Certainly, any part of the program that included the Osmond Brothers ranks high on my list, particularly when Donny joined the group. I could never get over that he was my age, singing on national television.

Perry Como’s Christmas show is long forgotten by me, but who can forget “Do

You Hear What I Hear”, “The Little Drummer Boy”, or “O Holy Night” sung in that lovely tenor voice. I have also long forgotten Nat King Cole’s Christmas special, but no one sings “The Christmas Song” like Nat King Cole.

Bing Crosby is known for crooning many a Christmas carol, but his version of “White Christmas” and “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” are my all time favorites and I cry nearly every time I hear them. “White Christmas” probably because the movie “White Christmas” was the only show my mother actually sat down to watch, and “I’ll Be Home” because I live so far from my immediate family and trips home for Christmas are scarce. Despite the melancholy attached to these two songs, they do warm my heart.

So many of the songs of the season warm my heart, particularly when sung by the likes of Nat King Cole, Perry Como, Dean Martin, Andy Williams, and Bing Crosby. The songs they sung helped us to really focus on the meaning of Christmas; family. Whether the song was intended to help us focus on our earthly family or our heavenly family, the season is about family. It is the traditions revolving around the family that are remembered. It is never the gifts that provide the warmth of the season it’s the togetherness. Seek to create the memories that will warm the hearts of your family for many years to come. Don’t miss what God intended with the birth of His son. He intended a way for us to be a part of the forever family. Do you know Him? If you do, don’t forget him this Christmas. If you don’t, I invite you to come join the Family and get to know Jesus this Christmas.

Sugar Cookies and the Meaning of Life

Bird nests, snowballs, date frying pan, sugar, and spritz were the many varieties of cookies that would appear on the Christmas Day cookie platter at our house when I was a kid. Sometime later, caramel bars would be added to the list of baked cookies that must be made before the big day. Mom’s plans probably included an order for baking, as some of these cookies freeze better than others. Mom must plan strategically to get them all made, squirrel away adequate quantities for the Christmas Day platter, while leaving enough available for school lunches and daily dessert.

My favorite cookie baking memories are related to the making of sugar cookies.

There were five of us kids all wanting a chance to decorate cookies. I imagine Mom wanted to decorate some herself so that they were presentable for the Christmas Day platter. My mom was quite a perfectionist when it came to baking. This is a trait we girls seem to have inherited and it has trickled down to a few granddaughters as well. But I digress. Five children each wanting a dozen or two cookies to decorate, quickly amounts to more than eight dozen cookies.

The job of rolling the dough, and transferring cookies to the baking sheet, often remained in Mom’s capable hands. Mom insisted on a consistent thickness and rolling the dough too many times would make the cookies tough. When we got older we were allowed to attempt rolling. We were reminded to place the cutters close so you get a lot of cookies each time you rolled the dough. “Sugar cookies are piddly,” Mom often said. Make the dough, roll the dough, cut the dough, transfer the dough, decorate the dough, bake the dough, …. you see, Piddly!

We were always allowed to choose the cookie shapes and the manner in which we wanted to decorate. There are two schools of thought on decorating sugar cookies. For years, our sugar cookies were sprinkled with white and colored sugar before baking. Christmas tree shapes usually had a silver ball at the top. (I now know these are called silver dragees) Sometimes we went crazy with the silver balls, which were hard as a rock, and the cookies became almost impossible to eat. The second way to decorate is to bake, cool, cover with white frosting, and then decorate with colored sugar. This is my preferred method today.

Each child had a cookie tin. When the cookies were completed, and thoroughly cooled, we placed our special creations into our tins. For the next few evenings, we kids would beg our dad to “eat one of mine.”  Dad wisely avoided the cookies covered in silver balls. Was choosing one of our creations for consumption, in some small way, acceptance of us and our unique gifts?

Food..…it was such a symbol of love at our house. Dad worked literally sun-up to sun-down (and often more) to provide for our family. Mom spent most of her days cooking and baking for our family of seven. Guests were always offered to stay and eat with us, or have a cup of coffee and a few cookies. Did not Jesus call himself the Bread of Life? Jesus then is our food for life and what great love that he would give himself so that we might truly live. Without fully intending it, my parents were modeling love and life through their daily lives and being God’s living example of love for me and my siblings. Today, I thank God for that type of childhood and that type of family.

Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving is a house brimming with people, the hubbub of voices interrupted occasionally by a child calling out "Mom", the TV blaring the Detroit Lions game, and the abounding fragrance of comfort food.

Preparation for the day begins days earlier. There are buns to make, pies to bake, cranberry relish to grind, and a turkey to thaw. Each female child has chores to complete to ready the house for guests. Clean what is visible; upstairs bedrooms need not be addressed, and if there is time Mom will tidy her bedroom as it becomes a coatroom for the day. Chairs are dusted, table leaves are inserted, silver is cleaned, china is counted, and tablecloths are pressed. Mom stays up the night before making sure the dressing is prepared and floors are mopped.

Thanksgiving morning means finding time to stuff the 24 pound bird and getting him into the oven while still assisting with milking the cows. There are no barn chores that can be set aside simply because we have guests coming, and the rush for the one bathroom begins. Seven people need a turn, no one can dawdle, and make way for Dad as soon as he gets in from the barn.

Guests begin arriving just before noon, each family bringing their contribution to the meal. Only a few are missing as the lure of hunting deer draws them to the forest. The kitchen becomes the center of activity. Last minute preparations are completed: gravy is made, serving dishes are loaded, glasses are filled, family is seated, prayer is recited. What took days to prepare is consumed in a matter of minutes, but the pleasure of conversation goes on far longer.

The day is crisp and clear, and possibly there is snow. Children are bound up in winter wear and shooed outside for whatever activity their imaginations can create. Adults will relax; women in the kitchen taking care of leftovers and packaging to-go plates for the grandparents; men in the living room watching the game and discussing weighty agricultural issues. Soon dusk arrives; a sign that families must return home to again milk the cows. Our house returns to a normal routine.

The children of the Hayes home are unaware of the memories that have been created on this day. It will be years later, when time and jobs have scattered them, that they will return to these Thanksgivings in their minds. Thanksgivings that were a house brimming with family, possibly a glimpse of the joyous House of God we will someday occupy, and the Family of God that provides endless love and togetherness.