Despite the retailers decking the halls far too early – even before Halloween - I refuse to even think about the holiday season until Thanksgiving. On Friday, the day after my mom’s enormous feast that kicks off this festive time of year, I lug the red and green containers up from the musty basement. Sorting through ornaments that have been in storage all year is almost as exhilarating as Christmas morning. I delight in each homemade Popsicle stick ornament proudly displaying my son’s school pictures in succession. There’s the nativity Mom brought back from Israel, which my son used to call “the Jesus house.” I unwrap each wooden figure and set them in their assigned places around the manger. And in the same container is the heavy brass menorah I bought at Hallmark when I first moved to Pennsylvania, along with half a box of crayon colored candles. 

 I have always celebrated both Christmas and Chanukah; my mother was Jewish and my father, Catholic, although there was never any religious aspect to the holidays. It was just about presents beneath the tree, and lighting candles to the incantation of “Blessed are thou, oh Lord our God,” which held no personal meaning for me. But it was really about family being together, making gingerbread, and stringing popcorn. It was about decorating the house with lights and pine boughs and when the weather turned cold, warming the house with music and love.

 Something happens to me this time of year and once I hear Bruce Springsteen’s Santa Claus is Comin’ to Town or Paul McCartney’s Wonderful Christmastime, I’m transformed from crazy busy secretary, student, wife, and mother into a charitable, peaceful soul filled with holiday cheer. I walk down Main Street lighted by the snowflake ornaments that embellish each lamppost, and I feel like Jimmy Stewart shouting, “Merry Christmas, Bedford Falls!” Sure, it’s a cliché, but it truly is a wonderful life.

 I look forward to watching A Christmas Story with my family and reciting the familiar lines for the 48th time. The first fresh blanket of snow makes me want to fly down my driveway on a tube, build a snowman, and then stay inside with a steaming mug of hot chocolate. On Christmas Eve, we celebrate with my father’s family. One by one we each open our pile of gifts while the rest of the family watches and takes pictures. We share a delicious spread of pasta with clams, shrimp, and lobster tails. On December 25th it is my turn to prepare the holiday meal, bringing together Christian and Jewish relatives from my mother’s and husband’s families, as we celebrate our version of “Christmukah.” We light the menorah and tree and honor the God of our varying understanding. The house rings with holiday music and we share a traditional dinner including potato pancakes, sweet potatoes, and ham. Ok, it’s not so traditional. But we are all together and it is definitely spiritual.