Day 177: Visions of Sugarplums
As a child, Christmas Eve was my favorite day of the year.
On December 1, my mother always hung two felt ribbons on the wall — one green, one red. Each had a long tail with 24 pieces of string tied to it. Above the string was a small bell and, above that, a poem printed out and pasted onto the felt. My mother would tie a Hershey’s Kiss to each piece of string.
The poem explained that you take off one candy each night, starting at the bottom. I don’t remember much of the poem, but I remember it ended by saying,
And Christmas Eve will be here
By the time you ring the BELL
Untying that candy every night tops my Christmas memories. On Christmas Eve, we’d go to midnight Mass — all dressed up in my new red or green velvet Christmas dress, thrilled by the darkness in the church, the candles and bells and Christmas music, struggling (usually without success) to stay awake.
At home, before going to sleep, we’d untie the very last candy, and ring the bell. My sister and I danced with excitement. Had we lived in another century, we would surely have had visions of sugarplums. We set out cookies and milk for Santa and stumbled into bed.
Christmas morning arose in splendor and wrapping paper and toys, but never topped the magic of the silent night before Christmas.