Joy of Christmas
BY MARY MCCARTHY
Christmas. Once in my imagination, I knew about Santa. He was a man in a red suit and cap, who wore a white beard. A song for the night was ‘Jingle Bells.’
I usually wrote him a letter and asked for presents: a doll, an accordion, and a couple of colouring books.
My older mind thinks about what going to the North Pole would have been like. But I was lucky he always brought me a surprise.
Early December was the start of getting excited, knowing this good man would visit.
He promised to travel in the night sky, calling on all the children’s homes of the world.
No language is needed to know this could be magic. Believing in the impossible on this night of all nights, his spirit of abundance shone to the moon.
And as a child, I remember nothing strange about this.
One night, waiting downstairs in the kitchen, the lights from the Christmas tree glowed. And my gaze was on the stars outside.
Light in the darkness of nightfall.
This childhood memory wasn’t a hundred years ago.
When my green eyes caught sight of the wings of three angels on the branches of the spruce tree. Black dot-like eyes glanced toward me. And their halos shone like the sun, moon, and stars.
That December, I had a feeling they couldn’t pretend but to notice the postman coming nearly every morning.
Christmas cards from America, England, and from around Ireland.
A measured design and beautiful artwork. A little colour: red, green, blue, and gold. Traditional religious cards depicted the crib. And some had a red robin, a Christmas tree, or Santa.
Nostalgia takes me back like music to a long memory of what West Cork and beyond was proud of in people’s character: kindness.
I felt that impulse of delight when opening the envelopes.
The world altered at this time of year with people’s spirit of generosity: greetings, good wishes, and sometimes a letter.
Across the land, most of us were humming to a traditional tune. Christmas night came. And I loved the excitement.
What carried the expectation was what Santa would bring.
The sound of the windy hill murmured his expected arrival. He defied natural law. Now the truth was out.
His plans were known. After coming down the chimney, he would spread joy by leaving gifts, like falling snow leaves a white carpet of loveliness behind.
Before morning light, I climbed out of bed quickly from drowsy sleep.
This was a harder thing to do on a school day. I never saw Santa when he visited.
It was like the natural order, played to the rhythm of the countryside like an orchestra in harmony. There are mysteries in life I do not understand.
Christmas was the time for ivy, holly, and red berries. And if I could turn back the years, what would the wild turkey have had to say?
‘There is nothing in the world so irresistibly contagious as laughter and good humour,’ according to Charles Dickens in A Christmas Carol.
In the depths of winter, Christmas dinner was the time to enjoy more of this.
It was like a ritual after mass on December 25th, when I would dine with my family at the kitchen table to a mighty spread.
This celebration honoured the festive season. And it marked the time of year of a timid sun.
Since then, I have known many good moments in life. Christmas comes. And each new year advances.
The light of spring quickly follows with its natural beauty. And the energy of the earth recovers. New growth emerges in trees, in dreams of youth, and in hope kept alive.
Nothing is better than the triumph of the intellect when expecting the best.
I am reminded of the lyrics of ‘Jingle Bells,’ the traditional Christmas song, which keeps that childlike wonder of Santa alive in my heart.
Before the old year ends, I hope to look for the joy of Christmas today and every day in West Cork.
And for the new year, let that spirit of joy radiate to all like the sun shining bright.
‘Dashing through the snow
In a one-horse open sleigh
O’er the fields we go
Laughing all the way.’
Christmas
By Mary McCarthy
Sometimes I dream of Christmas,
a work of art like folds of origami.
Memories of last year unfold
in my mind, encounters
when I walked slowly
down streets of Skibbereen. Those
exchanges in sun, wind, and rain,
hatched deep in my heart,
nourished my soul to this December day
like turkey sweetened with cranberry sauce.
Should I sing like a robin?
of those who lifted my spirits. Yes!
And see tinsel and fairy lights on the tree,
as a chance to look for brightness on lengthening days? Yes!
But smiling to myself as I face the road home, Santa
knows to come in stillness of the night. Yes!
Hooray! to get a gift and not a lump of coal.
A mystical silence finds the centre of this festive season,
when my natural curiosity burns like a glowing fire, I long for
to be excited like a child in the small hours unwrapping presents.
Wishing Happy Christmas!
I hope to count my blessings under the light of the moon,
always having the good word, a language forming like voice of an angel.
Good news matters like the spirit of Christmas.
Looking for a unique Christmas gift?
Mary’s poems are available in specially mounted gift packs – an interpretation of beauty, light, and hope, inspired by the elegance of language, insight, and nature that speaks to the heart. Ideal for Christmas and special occasions. For sale at Antiquity Bookshop Café, Skibbereen.
