Just a Small Town Christmas
‘Haul out the holly,’ the holiday season is officially here. It’s not so much just one day of celebrating but an entire season of joy. When people say they love Christmas or Hanukkah or any other winter holiday, I think perhaps they might mean, they love the entire season. I watch and wait for signs and start counting down in mid-June and when it finally arrives- I want to slow it down – take it all in - the music, the decorations, the gatherings. Morning walks make me smile as I see local businesses begin to bedeck their storefronts and prepare for ‘Light-Up”. I think of decorating as a bit of a community service for us all – sharing light and spreading joy.
When I was a kid Santa arrived on the firetruck to upper Main Street near where Buddha Berry now stands-and we would wait in a long line to tell him our wishes and get a small box of hard candy that we held onto tightly by a little white string. It was dark and cold, and sometimes snowy. The Community Band played holiday songs and all of the stores stayed open late. I remember going into the “5 and 10” where I pined for their giant peppermint sticks and everything was aglow. Strings of lights were strung across Main Street and a bell hung in the middle. There was magic in the air as this tired little village was suddenly transformed into an enchanted and magical place. Back in the 60’s, before Sag Harbor became so popular, there were empty storefronts and forgotten homes, and people would ask incredulously if Sag Harbor didn’t roll up the sidewalks in winter and close for a spell. But in times rarely forgotten by those who have lived out their lifetimes here, it was the time that we all huddled together, we all knew each other and life felt just about right.
The ponds and even the bay would freeze and my father would talk of times that you could drive your pick-up truck on the ice. The frozen ponds were filled with ice-skaters young and old. A small bonfire would warm up the night at the edge of Ryder’s Pond as all of us would spend hours skating in circles and figure eights. There would be an occasional pop-up hockey game and I can still so clearly hear the sound of their skates biting into the ice.
Snowstorms were numerous and one year Santa had to arrive early to deliver my new red-rubber boots that fit over my shoes and had a little elastic button clasp. He had made a special trip just to get those boots to me in time for the impending snowstorm and he even left me a handwritten note. I can still remember where that surprise gift was waiting for me in the tiny room that three of us shared. I couldn’t even imagine that Santa made that special trip just for me.
Snow piled high and we grabbed our Flexible Flyer sleds from the basement and sanded the rust from the runners with a bit of steel wool. Off we’d go to whatever small neighborhood incline we could find until we could commandeer someone to give us a ride to Pierson Hill or the golf course for an afternoon of fun. I think if you close your eyes, you can still hear the sound of kids laughing there – and the sound of boots crunching in snow- a small symphony of joy on a quiet winter day.
We picked out our tree from the Lyon’s Club lot, and before the days of perfection, I must say it resembled a Charlie Brown tree-but we all thought it was the most beautiful tree in the world. We would decorate as a family and the pièce de resistance was the real lead tinsel that hung from every branch. We each had our own spot under the Christmas tree that we returned to year after year without fail. Our stockings were hand-knitted by our mom and Santa’s beard was interwoven with a little bit of white angora wool. Mom kept a tiny notebook for checks and balances to make sure gifts were purchased equally. In a large family equity was important no matter the season.
If I close my eyes, I can still FEEL Christmas as a four-year-old, or an eight-year-old – or even a sixteen-year-old. These steadfast visceral memories last a lifetime – each of ours different and unique but also similar and bonding as we share this human experience of holiday wonder and joy with one another. Of course, there is room for melancholia, grief, regret-each of our lives have most-likely been touched and tumbled by someone missing from the table .
So, if you are able -string some twinkling lights for all to see, put on some Nat King Cole, dance in the living room, sip some mulled cider and open your hearts and your doors to the joy of the holiday season. Make some new memories. Tomorrow is an uncertain gift.
