It's Beginning to Smell A Lot Like Christmas

New York seems to come to life at Christmas, and one of my favorite things this time of year is the Christmas tree scent which emanates from the thousands real live pine trees and wreaths that line the city sidewalks beginning shortly after Thanksgiving, and for a few short weeks, the city comes alive with the smell of Christmas. It's funny how smells can call up a childhood memory locked away in our hearts, and the scent of a real Christmas tree evokes many fond memories of days gone past. 

One memory that still seems as vivid as if it were yesterday involves dashing down the stairs on Christmas morning, looking across the room, and seeing the Christmas tree lit in all its glory.  Mom and Dad had always wanted me to believe that Santa not only left gifts, but also trimmed the tree.  Hence, when I went to bed on Christmas Eve a bare tree stood in the corner, but in the morning it had come to life.

This was one old tradition I didn't try to keep. Santa Claus brought presents, yes, but I wanted my boys to experience the joy of decorating the tree.  There is something special about that family time, it is quality time, so when they were young, we made a full day out of it. Together we made paper chains of red and green, strung popcorn, ate homemade cookies, drank hot chocolate, later sung Christmas carols.  Later, we would snuggle close together on the sofa and watched  "A Christmas Story", still a holiday tradition in my home. "A Christmas Story", for me, brings me back to a time when Christmas didn't come until December, and all was right with the world.  In closing, I'd like to share the following little story that has become another holiday tradition for me.

The pine was mortal, once, like other trees 

That lift their boughs in the air, 

Wearing in summer its green fripperies. 

In winter going bare 

And desolate of birds.

But that was in an old, forgotten age 

Before the words 

Of Wise Men stung King Herod to such rage 

That his loud armies went 

About the land to slay the Innocent. 

Then there was consternation and no joy 

In Israel. Joseph and Mary, Flying 

Into another country with the Boy 

Came when the day was dying, 

Houseless to the edge of a green wood 

Where valorously stood 

A needled pine that every summer gave 

Small birds a nest. 

And half its trunk was hollow as a cave.

Said Joseph, "This is refuge. Let us rest." 

The pine tree, full of pity, dropped its vast 

Protective branches down 

To cover them until the troops rode past, 

Their weapons jingling, toward a different town. 

All night it hid them. When the morning broke, 

The Child awoke 

And blessed the pine, His steadfast lodging place. 

"Let you and your brave race, 

Who made yourself My rampart and My screen 

Keep summer always and be ever green. 

For you the punctual seasons shall not vary, 

But let there throng 

A thousand birds to you for sanctuary 

All winter long." 

The story tells us, too, 

That if you cut a pine cone part way through, 

You find it bears within it like a brand 

The imprint of His hand.

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