Good story tellers never tell all their stories all at once. For this reason, I will be sharing several Christmas memories leading up to the big day. May all your families find peace and happiness in the New Year.
After the luminaries along the driveway had been lit. After little Katie dog was secure behind her fence. Secret laundry room shots taken. The turkey and ham cooked to perfection. After my Uncle Clyde lead the neighborly gathering in prayer. My Aunt Lollie’s dressing finally served.
After people filled their plates and broke bread. After everyone who came finally went home. Silent Night echoed throughout midnight mass. The candle wax cooled and an empty house welcomed us home. After all of this, my mother prepared us for bed. She prepared us for Santa. She prepared us for life. She read us A Christmas Memory.
My brother and I nestled in with my mom on the living room couch. Sometimes on my double bed. Santa’s milk and cookies set. The story began.
Mom read to us Truman Capote’s holiday story about Buddy. Young Buddy and his dog named Queenie. Buddy who had a caretaker and sweet, old friend named Sook. Mom read to us about the pair making whiskey-soaked fruitcake. She told us about how one of those 31 fruitcakes went to Franklin Roosevelt. How the White House stationary received in return connected Buddy and Sook to the world beyond their tiny, impoverished kitchen. The tale of fruitcake connected my Mom, brother and me to Buddy and Sook. It connected us to Christmas. It connected us to the prayers of the outside world.
Mom read to us about the chopping down of Buddy and Sook’s Christmas tree. The cutting of a tree that healed the wounds inflicted on Sook by scorning relatives. A tree, according to Sook, that was too unique to sell. In truth, we are all like that tree. Special in our own way. Precious to those who love us most. Not worth betraying, no matter the cost.
Mom read to us about the pair making kites for one another. How both Buddy and Sook longed to buy something grander. In the end they settled on gifts crafted from their own hands. Presents infused with the heart’s love. Surely these handmade kites still fly high, intertwined like the purest of friendships. Mom told us about one such friendship. The friendship of Buddy and Sook.
Unfortunately, people separate. Sook and Buddy separate. Life separates us all. But memories hold us together. They are pure. They are simple. They are ideal.
I keep searching the sky. As if I expected to see, rather like hearts, a lost pair of kites hurrying toward heaven.
My mom reads this story to us every Christmas Eve. Year after year the tale holds us three together. Mother, brother and me. Christmas Eve holds us together. No matter the distance we must travel. No matter what disappointments a year might bring. We gather with family and friends. Love and fellowship renew us. It binds us tight. We will always have one another. We will always have our Christmas memories.