FULL CIRCLE

Christmas always brings memories of childhood, and one of my fondest is that of a very special aunt. Not only was she lots of fun to be with , but she was one of those people who always seemed to know what to put inside that beautifully wrapped box with my name on it. She just had that certain knack. The sweater fit perfectly, the toy or game assumed I was just a wee bit older than I really was, or the book stretched me and encouraged me to dream farther than I dared to imagine. A gift from my aunt often rated low on the official “ practicality for parents” scale but skyrocketed from my perspective on the “I can’t wait to open it” scale.

Growing up, our routine was similar ever Christmas Eve day. While mom bustled around with finishing touches, Dad took my brother, Brian and I out to deliver presents to people we wouldn't be seeing the following day. Brian and I could never understand why mom didn't want to come with us!  Anyway, off we'd go on our rounds, ready for hot chocolate and shortbread and all kinds of "My, how you've grown since last Christmas" and "Remember this time last year? Why, it seems only yesterday!". We always thought that it seemed an awfully long time since last year and would be another long time till Christmas happened again. This perception of time must be an affliction that comes with age, Brian and I agreed, (which was a rarity indeed).

Finally our favourite stop would come - no disagreement there either! After the usual bear hugs and kisses, Brian and I eagerly put the gifts we brought under the tree. That allowed us to discreetly search for the two with our names on them. What would they look like this year? Would mine be heavy and  awkward? Would Brian’s fit in a pocket or would we need to squeeze into the back seat of the car with it? Would one crackle and the other pop?

Once home, we’d help dad carry the presents in from the car and arrange them all under the tree. The gifts from the last stop always occupied centre front, on top of the rest. Resplendent in their place of honour, Brian and I were sure we could hear them calling to us. “Open me first! Yoo hoo. . . ME! don’t forget to open me first!” They tempted and teased us. We rattled them, held them up to the light, shook and squeezed them but the beautifully wrapped gifts (maybe looking just a tad worn by now) never gave away their precious secrets.

A tradition in our home was that we were each able to open one present on Christmas Eve. You must know which one Brian and I almost always chose. We were never disappointed. 

One Christmas Eve the gift from my aunt was wrapped in soft pink, tied with a white velvet bow and the gift card with my name on it was attached with a gold cord. Nestled inside was a white fur hat and gloves, the most wonderful ever made I was sure. Wearing them I could be Heidi, waiting sadly for Grandfather to come for me, or a movie star waiting impatiently for her moment before the camera. I could be an Eskimo girl watching for my father to return from a seal hunt or perhaps an abandoned rich girl with only my fur hat and gloves to remind me of my past. I didn’t realize it then, but my aunt had tucked the precious gift of imagination in between the sheets of crisp tissue.

Now that time has flown by and my brother and I are parents ourselves, the tables have turned.  The lovely lady who gave us those beautiful presents is childlike herself. She spends her days in a dream world. A world where it is always Christmas, or maybe it is never Christmas. For her, all Christmases have faded into the heavy mist where forgotten memories go and Christmas next year may never come.

Last night I went shopping and saw a beautiful white fur hat with matching mittens. I wrapped them in sparkling silver paper, tied the parcel with a soft pink velvet bow, and attached with a gold cord a card that read,

TO:
Auntie Doreen

WITH LOVE FROM:
Lynda

Now you can be whoever you want too.


X X O O

By Lynda McKenzie