Remembering Holidays Past

Readers share Yuletide memories

While the holiday lights are still shining and before the year winds down, it's the perfect time to listen to those ghosts of Christmas past.

Here at The Watershed, we love a good story as much as the next person, so we've asked our readers to share memories of past holidays.

Here are a few of our favourites:

From Rose Dudley:

Desiring a white Christmas, our family decided to spend it at Whistler, and Sam, the one-eyed cat, came along. Being a cat of habit, a car journey and unfamiliar surroundings discombobulated Sam, and on Christmas morning she disappeared.

The family searched for hours, but once the turkey was in the oven, Mum went out, heard a plaintive meowing and followed it to a dark basement room with a tiny door. Peering in, she saw one eye peering back.

Struggling through the small doorway, she grabbed Sam, but not before the caretaker came by, locking them in.

Mum screamed hysterically, banging on the door before resigning herself to Christmas Day trapped in an unlit basement with Sam, her family seeming oblivious.

Eventually, someone realized Mum hadn’t made the gravy, so heading out, they heard the racket and dissolved in fits of laughter when they discovered her.

 Mum was not amused. 

***

From Rod Baker:

Pale morning light peeks past the curtains to reveal a plump Christmas stocking — waiting on my bedpost.

He came! Father Christmas came (despite some naughty behaviour)!

Frosty spikes glaze my bedroom window. Too cold to get dressed, I pull scattered clothes off the floor onto my bed, warm for later.

Wrapped in a blanket, I reach for my stocking and upend the contents onto my bed. A gleeful shiver at the tumble of new treasures: crayons, marbles, comic book, Mars Bar, cap gun, Smarties, red rubber ball and yes, at the very bottom, the delight of a shiny orange tangerine!

***

From John Dudley:

1972 was our first Christmas in Lions  Bay and like many others we walked along the railroad tracks, axes behind our backs, searching for the perfect Christmas tree.

We were thrilled that it was just the right height, but a little surprised that when it was decorated, the branches drooped somewhat.

Two days later we woke up to find all the needles had fallen off and it wasn’t quite so appealing.

That was how we found out that traditional Christmas trees are fir — not hemlock!

***

Do you have a holiday story to share? Leave a comment below,

or email editor@lionsbaywatershed.ca

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