Sarah Nigbor

I absolutely love everything about the holiday season. The scent of evergreen wafting from the tree, the twinkle of Christmas lights, the holiday parties and concerts, buying gifts for people, mailing out Christmas cards, singing carols at church, I could go on. I even love the cold, brisk weather and that fluffy white stuff that falls from the sky.

As a child, holiday magic seemed to abound wherever I turned. Now that I’m an adult, I know I have my mother, grandparents, aunts and uncles to thank for that. Little did I know how much work they put into making everything so special for Christmas.

I couldn’t wait to open the little doors on the Advent calendar each day to reveal the tiny chocolate treat. Decorating the tree was always a festive affair with Grandma playing her favorite country singers’ Christmas albums, such as the Oak Ridge Boys and Statler Brothers. I remember feeling pure joy as I danced in the living room watching the lights go up on the tree. My grandpa, though impatient in many ways, could sit for hours untangling hopelessly gnarled strands of Christmas lights. Not me. I bopped around, excited for each new decoration more than the last. The ceramic Christmas tree with lit bulbs! The crocheted stockings on the china hutch! The pinecone wreath on the living room wall! The Christmas tree made of brooches nestled in black velvet!

Grandpa loved to tease me and always told me that he’d intercept Santa Claus and nail his suit to the garage door so he couldn’t escape. I begged him not to and he never caught Santa. For reasons completely lacking logic, I believed Santa came into the house through the dryer. We didn’t have a fireplace, so I figured he had to find some sneaky way in.

My mom told me that the farm animals all knelt at midnight to honor Jesus’ birth, the way they did when he was born in a manger in Bethlehem. Each Christmas Eve my face would be pressed against my bedroom window, looking toward the barn, hoping for a glimpse of a cat or cow kneeling. Surely one day I would witness it. I never did see them do so, but a part of me to this day still believes they do.

Now that I’m the mother, it’s my job to make things magical for my children. I’ll admit, I’m thankful they’ve outgrown the whole Elf on a Shelf thing. I still move it around, but it’s not an utter catastrophe if I forget. Now they help me move him around too, to surprise their siblings. They also have Advent calendars and love the tradition of decorating the house and tree. But we have two fireplaces, so Santa doesn’t have to shimmy in through the dryer. We also leave Rudolph a nice array of carrots along with Santa’s cookies. Oddly enough, the carrots are never missing in the morning, but the cookies are mere crumbs.

Our 4-H club went caroling at the Spring Valley Health Care Center this past Friday night. We do it every year. It brings me such joy to see the faces of the residents as we sing. I love it when they sing along too. We had quite the crowd of singers this year, so we were loud. Maybe slightly offkey, but enthusiastic nonetheless.

It was a special moment etched into my memory when Brother Michael Mandernach, the retired pastoral associate from Sacred Heart Parish and the last living member of the Brothers of St. Pius X religious order, joined our group. I interviewed him in 2015 when he was named the Dam Days parade grand marshal and I’ve never forgotten him.

He told us the history behind “Silent Night,” then asked us to sing it as he sang it in German. Even the most fidgety kids of our bunch knew this was a special moment. It was one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen and heard. He went around our group, which numbered about 20, and shook each person’s hand and thanked us for coming. But you see, he was giving us a gift as well.

He joined us for a few more carols then spoke to the small children of our group as we headed out the door. As we walked into the cold, starry night, I knew I had witnessed something truly special. Another gem to tuck into my book of holiday memories.