Holiday Magic

Eight p.m. and the room was ready — as if set for a scene from a Hallmark movie.

Every surface was decorated with little touches that reflected the season and its sense of magical wonder. The subtext — well, hardly “sub”text — was peace, love, and joy.

Every year, she worked quietly, alone, gladly, with great confidence. This would be the year the evening matched the scene.

On the mantle were arranged an even dozen beeswax candles, tapers, in her grandmother’s crystal holders. Their flickering light reflected in the shiny glass to amplify their warm glow. In the spot where once a fire would have been set sat a beautiful wicker basket filled with fresh-cut cedar boughs adorned with small ornaments — silver and gold, and just one red one to stand out for special note. On either side, on handsome brick stands, stood a large flourishing poinsettia — a mix of red and white leaves, some special hybrid variety her local garden centre had recommended as offering exceptional impact. But the fireplace was not the highlight of the room. Just beyond it was the tree that held pride of place. Eight feet tall, the Fraser fir had come up on Google as the best natural Christmas tree to have — strong branches to support heavy ornaments; a lovely forest scent; and long-lasting needles. She had been so happy to find the perfect specimen for her room at the local Cub Scout pop-up sale and she had delighted in decorating it tastefully with silver and gold ornaments — larger at the bottom and getting ever smaller towards the top, with one special red bell placed within the branches on the left-hand side. And on the very top, an artful spray of holly and mistletoe cleverly woven together by a local artist into the shape of a star. Perfect.

She had exchanged the normally bright reading lights for lower-wattage lamps that could be dimmed to suit the mood she wanted to bring to the room. Between their incandescent glow and the real flames from the tapers on the mantle and the dozen or so pillar candles arranged around the room on red and green plates, it all created the cozy, tasteful, inviting scene she was aiming for. She had even bought special matches — long, taper, Christmas-coloured — to make the lighting of the live flames easy and festive. Christmas carols came softly from the speakers set into the bookcase beside the far window.

The food had come together beautifully. The dining nook table was set with the blindingly white heavy-linen cloth; the little plates, forks and napkins were laid at one end; the homemade quiches and sausage rolls were displayed in generous piles; the cheese board and artisanal crackers were a kind of centre piece; and the homemade Christmas cake and mince pies were arranged on the seldom-used beautiful platters inherited from her grandmother. The finishing touch was the wrapped liqueur-filled chocolates scattered artfully across the table’s surface — a touch of carefree abundance in among the otherwise elegant presentation of food.

A final check in the hallway mirror assured her she was ready. She poured herself a small sherry — her usual seasonal indulgence — and waited for the evening to begin.

When the clock struck first 9pm, then 10, she knew that this year was, once again, how it would always be for her: better in the planning and the doing than in the having. Not one guest had showed up, not one person arrived to animate the scene she had so carefully designed. Did it matter this year? Did it ever matter? No, not really. For it to matter would have required her to actually invite some people. But she never did. She had lost her true love many years ago and every year she conjured the feeling of romance and wonder they had shared by indulging in this Christmas fantasy: set the scene, enjoy the making of it, then revel in the memories of what once had been. The current day would never compete with the yesterdays that animated her heart for one special evening every holiday season.

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This is but a story that I invented for a recent writing group session, the task for which was to write something that animated a certain tone or emotion without overtly stating it. I was going for a sort of wistful romantic feel with a twist of melancholy. Achieved? 

I believe in the possibilities of this Holiday season: love, joy, and peace for all. On this Christmas Eve, I offer you heartfelt best wishes for love, joy and peace in your world, and I give you my sincere thanks for reading my words. 

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Land acknowledgement: I respectfully recognize that I live on the original lands of Anishinaabe, Cree, Oji-Cree, Dakota and Dene peoples, and on the homeland of the Métis Nation.

Photo by Doriana Popa on Unsplash