Preparing for Christmas - Be open to magic

I am a total Christmas enthusiast. Of course I am, because it is a celebration, and celebrations are Pollyannaish in the extreme. I love the decorations, the songs, the shopping--yes, even the shopping--even though I am a certified introvert.

Christmas is very magical for me. This is a time when anything can happen, and that anything is going to be good or have good results one way or another. I am not speaking as a child of privilege; my family went from working class poor to blue-collar middle class over many long years; my thrifty mother used to make do by cutting up her own clothes and my dad's to make clothes for my brothers and me. I remember times when I would wish so hard for a particular thing for Christmas and not get it. Not that year, or the next. Yet, I knew that if I wished hard, and just so, I would get my wish or at least something good would happen, maybe not now, maybe not tomorrow or the next day or even the next year, but some time when it was just right. And of course, something good would happen sooner or later, and that was magic.

I am not going to argue about what magic "supposed" to be, whether it's good, bad, or whatever. You will have literalists on both ends of the spectrum (and trust me, it's both, not one side) who will tell you it is bad for whatever un-fun, uncelebratory reason they have in their shriveled little hearts. There are enough Grinches these days who want to make everyone stop their celebrating, because it's not THEIR kind of celebrating. Pooh! That's what I say to them. Pooh!

For me, magic is in the idea that anything might happen at any time, and that anything can be good and helpful and joyous. I have had people tell me this is crap. My answer to that is, crap is great compost and I recommend the liberal use of it when growing an organic vegetable garden. That's right. Even something that comes out of a cow's behind can be useful and good if we would just use our brains and were resourceful and creative about it.

Magic happens when you're not looking for it, and sometimes when you are. It creeps up on you in secret into your heart like a dandelion pushing itself up through a crack in concrete, and sometimes it whaps you upside the head. Sometimes it does both. (Envisioning a dandelion with a two-by-four...hmm.....) Sometimes you can make magic, sometimes someone else does, and sometimes magic happens all on its own. Sometimes it happens fast, and sometimes it happens over many years. It is, very much, like love. In fact, love is the greatest magic there is.

Just in case you don't have any idea what magic is like, here are some examples, and this is no bull:

I went Christmas shopping with my mom on Saturday, directly after choir practice at church. (It was a welcome change: I don't really read music, so it's not at all easy for me to learn the music--I have to learn by ear. I sing, though, because I like to sing, especially Christmas songs and songs that lift the spirit.) My first stop was to the bank to deposit a royalty check (and that's another piece of magic, because it was for a book that was published years and years ago, and I got the check in the mail just as I was wishing I could have a little extra to splurge on Christmas presents. And there it was).

My mom has parking space magic. I don't care how crowded a parking lot is--and holidays are the worst--she will find a parking space close to the store entrance. This is no doubt one reason I like Christmas shopping, because I usually go with her. So we entered the Fred Meyer parking lot, and I said, "okay, Mom, work your parking magic."

She grinned and began wiggling her fingers and intoned "parking space...parking space..." in a mock-solemn way, and then she stopped. "Go down that lane," she said.

Nobody was at the door of any of the cars in that lane, but I knew better than to mention this after years of experience with my mother. She says she can do this by thinking of her parents, of how they loved her, and she is sure they continue to look out for her, even though she is a grandmother herself. Sure enough, just as I drove the car halfway down the aisle, a man ran out of the store and went to the last parking spot in the lane, the one just next to the store entrance, got in the car, and pulled out.

Score! Mom's parking spot magic strikes again. I look back at that now, and think it was probably a Sign of Things to Come.

I went into the store to the bank branch therein and stood in the very short line (one person in front of me), and was soon pushing my check toward the teller. As is my habit when waiting, I look around me at different people, smiling when our eyes meet, hoping to spread some mental holiday vibes, because Christmas is about spreading happy vibes, among other things. Happy vibes are good to spread around, even if you don't believe in vibes, because hey, it can't hurt. So, there I was, hopefully emitting happy vibes in the bank branch....

...and who should I spot at the teller next to me, but jolly old St. Nicholas--in disguise!

Anyone looking at him would think he was just a plump elderly gentleman with a longish white beard below cheeks red from the freezing outdoors; he was wearing an ordinary though dapper grey zip-up jacket and crisp black trousers. However, as a writer, I try to be observant, and I noticed a bit of red and green just behind the opening of that jacket. Aren't those Christmas colors? Wouldn't Santa--being what he is--find it irresistible to sneakily be where he is least expected? Isn't he about surprises and presents and knowing things we mere mortals don't? Who would expect Santa Claus in a bank? Not I! Therefore....

I nudged my mom who was standing next to me. "Look, it's Santa Claus," I whispered to her.

She looked, and chuckled. "It is!" she said. "Do you think he is going to give presents?"

"I don't know," I said. I was hard put not to stare, tell you the truth, because he really did look like the traditional picture we all have of Santa, except in every-day clothes. But a part of me was saying with all the wishes I had as a child, oh, yes he will absolutely give presents!

Both Santa and I finished our banking transactions at the same time, and as he turned, his jacket gapped open, and I almost chuckled in glee: beneath that jacket he wore a shirt with a very big picture of Santa Claus on it, in full Christmas regalia. Another bit of confirmation that this must really be Santa! My mother and I followed at a discreet distance as he gazed at various goods in the store as if in deep contemplation, picked up a few, and examined them.

As he went toward the store's exit, some children following in their mother's wake turned the corner of a Christmas display, and came into full view of this gentleman. Their eyes grew wide as they stared at him, so stunned, I imagine, that they said nothing. Their mother turned then as well, no doubt to see what kept her children lagging and suddenly silent. Her eyes also widened, and she began to smile.

I saw Santa smile in return, the corners of his eyes crinkling. He pushed his hand into his pocket, and without a word pulled out some thin strips of paper, gave them to the children, turned, and left. One little boy held his up for his mother to see--Christmas stickers, brightly colored green and red and gold.

"Santa Claus," said his sister, her voice awed. "In disguise!"

We looked at the gentleman who was heading out the automated sliding doors. His back turned, only the grey jacket showing between the incoming shoppers, he was indistinguishable from other elderly men who had come to buy presents for their grandchildren.

My mother and I looked at each other, and we grinned, thinking of the children and their mother who had seen Santa in disguise. We wouldn't point him out, oh, no. Santa does his best in disguise, I think, when we least expect it, when we allow ourselves to be open to the possibility of love and magic in this world, and in ourselves.

Note: The most popular story of St. Nicholas is the one where, as a wealthy young man, he discovered that the daughters of a poor man could not be married because they lacked a dowry, back in the days when such a thing would most definitely prohibit young women from marrying anyone, much less someone they loved. Feeling very sorry for them, yet not wishing to intrude on the honor and pride of this poor man, St. Nicholas took three bags of his money and secretly threw them through an open window of this man's house, or down the chimney. The young women were then well-off enough to marry good men, with the approval of their in-laws. No one knew until much later that it was St. Nicholas who had given these generous gifts.


--KEH