Day After by Angie Ledbetter

It's the day after the Big Day. Christmas is over, and the only ones left with huge sacks to haul are the garbagemen coming to take away the trashed remnants. Out go the pretty wrapping all scrunched up; the torn boxes, ripped open in excitement; the boxes that held nifty kitchen gadgets, electronics or kids' toys; curled ribbons and remains from the feast.

My small family has a tradition of eating brunch out on Christmas, as we've spent the Eve enjoying the big family gathering, gag gift exchange, and eating a delicious potluck. We patiently waited for a table at the Waffle House, enjoying rehashing fresh memories of this year's holiday celebration with laughter.

Then a strange thing happened after we were seated. It was truly a sight to behold. There at the door of the breakfast restaurant stood a shirtless elderly man with long white hair and matching beard. He looked all the world like a day-after Santa. As most of the other diners snickered and pointed, I asked my husband to go to our vehicle and see if he had an extra shirt or jacket for the man who'd merely stuck his head in the door and asked, "Can y'all please fix me $4 worth of waffles? I'll wait out here."

Soon, my husband and the bedraggled Santa returned, the latter decked out in a brand new hooded sweat jacket with a few more bills in his pocket. I wish I could share the smile I had on my face and in my heart. My husband, not usually a demonstrative person, had gotten the opportunity to share. My teenagers, I'm proud to say, suggested we also pick up the man's tab for breakfast, and asked our waitress to tell him to order whatever he wanted. They had never once laughed at the unfortunate soul.

The other patrons went back to their conversations, and our "Santa" was treated with dignity by the hardworking staff who'd given up their Christmas morning to serve others.

At the table behind us, our Santa smiled and said, "God bless you," before returning to his babbling behind the menu to himself. I imagine he is a homeless veteran, someone who has no warm place to spend Christmas or any other day with loved ones.

Our Waffle House visit with "Santa" will be remembered long after I've forgotten what gifts I unwrapped this year. And the smile on the tired waitress's face when she saw her huge tip. And the pride I felt for my family around a cramped table eating brunch.

I am truly blessed and filled with gratitude. May you receive the same kind of gifts, long after the material ones have faded from memory, throughout the coming year and always.

{Photo by Angie Ledbetter}

Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas, by Kat Magendie

I'm writing this on Christmas Eve. Actually, Christmas Eve is my favorite time. Of course, as a child, Christmas Eve seemed to last forever, and I remember the sleepless nights of excitement: what was under the tree? what would I get for Christmas? will it ever GET HERE! Even when we didn't have much money, there were always gifts under the tree. We kids never felt as if there wasn't a "Christmas," for somehow our mother pulled it off, even in the leanest of times. For years I thought Christmas stockings were supposed to be paper lunch sacks with our names written in a fancy script. Inside those "stockings" were fruits, nuts, and sometimes a little candy. As the years progressed, the candy became more present. We were allowed to skip breakfast Christmas morning if we wanted to and eat whatever treats we had in those sacks. Ah. I miss those lunch sacks of goodies. I have stockings now, but they just don't feel the same.

As an adult, Christmas Eve takes on the special feelings of anticipation that differ from those as a child who wonders what she will get Christmas Day. Instead, she wonders at what she already has, and what she has given: me that is, grateful for what I have and what I have been able to give to someone else for Christmas.

Christmas Eve is that pause between. For I know once Christmas Day is here (as it is now, just as you are reading this and I will be eating a Christmas Breakfast and drinking Deep Creek Blend and opening a few gifts and smiling and wondering at others opening their gifts and imagining children's laughter...), it quickly slides away and then soon the new year is here and all the glitter and sparkle of Christmas quickly fades away, the tree begins to lose its needles, the gifts tucked away, the memories caught in snapshots of mouths wide in laughter and surprise. But don't let's go that far. Let's take this moment, this day, and stretch it out far and wide as a Smoky Mountain Sky.

On Christmas Eve, I like to stay up as late as I can, and all afternoon and into the evening I watch certain Christmas movies: Alistair Sims's "A Christmas Carol," "It's A Wonderful Life," "Miracle on 34th Street," "A Charlie Brown Christmas," and the halarious but heartwarming "Christmas Story."

When the last movie fades away, if I have been able to stay awake before a fire, tucked under a quilt on my couch, I stay there just a bit longer (and I also sneak in a gift or two into Roger's stocking - just as I used to sneak my son's gifts into his stocking and place his gifts under the tree) and just enjoy the quiet, the solitude, the last remaining moments of Christmas Eve--which most times does turn into very very early Christmas Morning.

Oh! Christmas Day! Oh! Joyous Day! Oh! Wonderful Beautiful Day!

I will snuggle in and remember Christmases that have come and gone. I will embrace the one that is here. I will not yet look ahead to the next days coming.

Christmas is here. At last, Christmas is here. Ding, Dong; Ding, Dong; Christmas bells are ringing... And so...

Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas(song lyrics removed - just in case...but, you can sing it along with me....make up the words if you do not know them...)

Yes, Kathryn, there really is a Santy Claus by Kathryn Magendie

Days ago, I wrote a yog post about my Grinch’s heart. Who knew that these words really would be slipping from my fingers, when I wrote: “And perhaps by Christmas, somehow, someway, some magic will have happened...and I will write, ‘It happened...it really happened...’”

For my Christmas miracle seems to have arrived. No unwrapping pretty paper. No big red bow. But, amazing all the same. My good friend said, “Ha! Told you your Christmas magic would happen; but it isn’t magic, it’s the Baby Jesus! Told you I’d send out word.” I laughed. I said, “Baby Jesus, huh?” Last night I went outside to an almost silent, beautiful starry night. There were so many stars I could never count them in this lifetime or the next. The creek was rushing as it should from our recent rains (another gift?), and the air was crisp but not too cold. I stared up at the sky and said, “Thank you…” I thought, “How do I know where gifts come from? Who am I to question the source?” We search for answers, and sometimes those answers just will not be forthcoming. Sometimes the mysteries of the universe are just that.

And here, days before Christmas, I have a gift I have wanted for so long. One that I’ve worked so hard for. One that I have dreamed about and wished for and called out to the universe (and my friend has called out to Baby Jesus). What is the gift, you may be asking? I was going to say the gift is a publisher offering me a contract for my Virginia Kate novel—that is what all this is about and I am stunned with happiness and in love with Bellebooks; but then I realized suddenly that though that is the gift, the miracle comes from the feelings brought forth by the gift. Everything lined up just as it was supposed to for this to happen. What I did in the moments and days I did them was exactly what I was supposed to do—and it’s not just a “hindsight is 20-20” moment. It’s as if Santy Claus (or my friend’s Baby Jesus) is twinkling his eye right now, having set into motion the very things needed to bring me right where I am right now. Four days until Christmas. And I am feeling the spirit. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

Hark how the bells,
sweet silver bells,
all seem to say,
throw cares away

Christmas is here,
bringing good cheer,
to young and old,
meek and the bold,
ding dong ding
that is their song
with joyful ring
all caroling…

Whew! by Angie Ledbetter

I'm tired and worn out right now. Feel like I've been running three ways from Sunday, or so the expression I grew up with says.

Doesn't it seem like this time of year just goes into hyper speed and the faster you run to accomplish chores and check off lists, the further behind you get? It can be stressful...if you let it.

I refuse to fall into a pit of angst. What gets done, gets done. If not, oh well and shrug. I'm happy to pass glittery Christmas lights dotting houses and landscapes. It makes me slow down and really look. I'm grateful my house isn't as filthy as it could be, given my lack of daily attention. And truthfully, I'm happy to be tired, my eyes so heavy I can hardly keep them open to type. Know why? Because I know I'm going to sleep deep and well tonight. No tossing and turning for me. No thoughts and worrying pinging around in my head as I try to relax for sleep.

Now, if only the chainsaw otherwise known as my husband doesn't make too much noise, I'm going to enjoy a good 8 hours or so of blessed rest. Ahh. Goodnight.

My Grinch's Heart by Kathryn Magendie

I fear I am turning into the Grinch. You know, scowling about Christmas and all the Who’s in Whoville’s noise getting on my nerves. What’s happened to me? When Christmas was always the most perfect, most wonderful time of the year? Somewhere along the way, I’ve let some kind of magic go, some kind of beauty of the season. I want it back. Can you help me get it back? How?, you ask. Well…I’m open to suggestions. Send me Christmassy comments that enlighten and lighten? Email me cute Christmas cards? Post wonderful holiday thoughts on blogs and twitters and facebooks, oh my, and send me the link?

Saturday we were going to go buy our tree, but something else came up. I hated the feeling of momentary relief…where did that come from? I had been excited, hadn’t I? The decorations are stacked in boxes, ready for the tree we will get, maybe tomorrow. I want to look forward to decorating it.

Maybe part of it, too, is my friends and family are far from me.

What do I want for Christmas this year? I want that spirit back. I want that old feeling back. I can’t force it, so I’m asking you all, to help me find that Christmas-Holiday Gratitude. I know it’s somewhere. I must have just misplaced it in a corner, under a pile of sweaters, in the sock drawer, in the hollowed out tree, behind the dresser, under the couch, in the refrigerator (where we all open it and stare inside and think, "what was I looking for?")…somewhere, it’s here somewhere.

Right now as I'm writing this on Sunday, there are oodles of Fa La La La Lifetime Christmas specials. Where these women are living disallusioned lives at Christmas and yada yada the same old; but, every now and then I tear up, as if I am seeing parts of myself in these women. Thing is, at the end of the movie, I know they'll have found what is missing—will I find it along with her? Gee, I hope so.

I’ll fly like the hawk over a jeweled city of holiday shine and there I will find what I need, yes. Yes.



I’ll keep searching those little corners and places for that old feeling. It rises up and quickly flies away just out of my grasp. Maybe you’ve seen it? Floating around, my Holiday Spirit. If you do see it, grab hold of it and bring it back to me, and for that, I’ll be filled with gratitude. And perhaps by Christmas, somehow, someway, some magic will have happened...and I will write, "It happened...it really happened..." And what will have happened will be because of you and you and you and you...I'm already smiling, thinking about what magic may happen, all because I just reached out and asked.