My parents loved Christmas.
As they aged, they didn’t decorate as much. They were practical folks, bred in tougher times. Going silly on decorations was not their style. They liked it simple. Having grown up when money was tough to come by (but living simply and well was still possible), they were frugal.
In the latter years when Mother’s ailments dictated Christmas in Lebanon rather on Signal Mountain with my sister’s family, we had to insist we get a tree and decorate it. They thought the small, fake, frosted tree with red bulbs was enough, that and the old wreath Daddy would pull out from storage and hang on the front door. Oh yes, they would put their wooden angels on the mantel. And hang the stockings she had made back in the early 1950’s for Joe, Martha, and their goofy son.
They never lacked in the true spirit of Christmas. It was always one of the best things about my years to watch their happiness and love at Christmas time.
With all of the hate and blame and things they would have deemed un-Christian going on right now, i think his photo from about five years ago displays how they both would have felt:
But i remember both of them looking more like this:
And i know with all certainty, they are hoping and praying that all of their wide expanse of family and friends beyond counting will have a peaceful, wonderful, loving, and joyful Christmas.