The house glowed. Z. Tyler’s mouth watered when he entered the kitchen
through the back door to save the parlor from snow falling off his boots. Roast
turkey, potatoes, gravy, corn, fresh bread, cranberries, pumpkin pie and his
favorite, cherry custard pie blended in the smells of Christmas that warmed his
cold nose…and, his pure heart. He detected the unmistakable aroma of Nanny’s
special recipe honey-cherry ham, baking in the oven. The wide sideboard in the
dining room held a festive holiday runner on which sat three cakes decorated in
bright holiday colors; homemade cookies and candy and fudge were evident in
ample supply with a variety of nuts and an assortment of fresh fruits. This
hostess knew how to throw a party.
From the living room he
heard excited talk as the three girls competed in telling the new comers of the
events of the day, decorating and cooking and preparation and Bapa and Z. Tyler’s
secret trip.
He could see the ten foot
tree which was brightly lit with myriad colored bulbs, shiny ornaments and old-fashioned
silver tinsel on which Bapa had insisted. Over the years Nanny and her girls
had fashioned various homemade ornaments of fabric, wood, even baked-dough, each
painstakingly hand-painted in Christmas red and green holiday motif. The scent
of fresh cut spruce decorating the stair rail wafted to Z. Tyler’s senses,
blending with smells of the table fare under preparation.
A pine garland draped the banister separating
the dining area from the living room; bright red holly berries from the bush in
the front yard were interspersed among the green needles; golden bows
embellished the decoration at strategic intervals. A mountain of packages adorned
in a vibrant array of various colored paper and ribbon lay under and around the
tree. Nanny’s childhood manger scene held center stage, the crib empty until
midnight Christmas Eve when the baby, Jesus, would be adoringly placed in its
proper position of honor in celebration of His birth amidst Mary, Joseph, the angel
and shepherd boy and stable animals.
Loudly closing the door
while stomping snow from his feet onto the woven throw rug on the kitchen floor
served to signal the girls that he was home. Three angels came flying in a
blur, all hugging him and talking at the same time, totally excited. His mother
and aunt came in assaulting him with heavy hugs and holiday kisses. If Bapa had
witnessed that scene, he would surely have teased the boy about his notorious “way
with women”. The young man shook hands with and bear-hugged his dad and uncle.
“Merry Christmas!” was
exchanged among one and all; smiles radiated. Nanny watched from where she had
taken up sentry duty near the cook stove, smiling. Her house had always been
“home”, even in lean times when things were Spartan for a young family. But,
her attitude stood on an unshakable foundation of faith. Love had been the
nectar of her life; it overflowed in everything she did. This family was
testament to her nature. They reflected whom she was and how she lived her life.
The farmhouse was alive and her comfort was complete. Whenever Bapa found
occasion to speak of her, he quipped that for forty years he had called her a saint,
then humbly confessed that he had been mistaken--- she was…an angel! Amen! to
that. It was true.
“Where’s Bapa?” the three
girls inquired, looking behind the boy in search of the patriarch, furtively
searching for whatever gift he and Z. Tyler had gone to get, their
failed-attempt at clandestine peeking as evident as was the Christmas spirit.
Everyone laughed at the girl’s
unsuccessful surreptitious effort to overcome obfuscated observation; their
“secret” ill-fated attempted clandestine travail was obvious.
“Oh!” answered Z. Tyler in
mocked yawning theatrical boredom, “I think he might just be in the barn.” He
could not contain a telltale laugh which escaped his lips; he was as excited as
they.
The girls looked at one
another, eyes widening.
“Everybody get coats, hats,
gloves and boots and come with me. And, that means everyone, including adults,”
Z. Tyler commanded, sounding like a General ordering his subordinates.
Cheers and yelps mixed with
laughter as anticipation grew. Quickly, the cavalcade marched across the yard
and parking area from the front porch to the barn. Five inches of fresh-fallen
snow did not impede their progress nor did the continuing obscuring large
floating flakes of white fluff dampen their spirits; this troop was on an
important mission and they sensed it.
Bapa heard the infantry
approach and moved to stand in the hallway so as to shield their view of the
first stall after the tack room on the left. They quieted as they entered the
livestock area which was in strict keeping with their rearing; it was always
just polite and proper to behave appropriately, especially when entering
another’s abode, even an animals; no need to scare the critters. Quiet giggles
escaped the girls; the adults smiled in anticipation; Nanny and Z. Tyler
gloated in knowing appreciation of the surprise in store for the others.
Once the entire group was
safely within the comforting confines of the wooden structure, harbored from
the cold, the wind and the unrelenting snow, Bapa took on an air of a circus
ringmaster as he prepared to address his progeny.
“I promised you all a white
Christmas,” the old man began, taking pleasant notice of the girls inquiring
eyes trying to see around him to the interior of the stall area. Then, “And, so, here it is. Just the most
beautiful sight, isn’t it?”
“Oh! Yes, Bapa,” said Lauren
as Lexi and Anna Marie nodded agreement.
“But, Bapa,” the “Little
Professor” prompted, “what are you hiding?”
“Well, girls,” Bapa began,
“Santa Claus came last night and left---this!”
Then, with as much fanfare
as he could muster in the tight quarters, he stepped aside.
Eyes widened as “oohs” and
“aahs” sounded; Lexi shrieked.
In the stall stood a
beautiful dark grey filly. Black mane and tail, four black stockings, a
fetching dappled coat and a refined dished face topped with black-tipped
attentive refined, perky ears. Her eyes were alert and intelligent; she stood
14.2 hands at the withers. The filly nickered softly in greeting to the girls.
“Merry Christmas! Girls!”
Bapa announced, slipping his arm around Nanny as the horde rushed into the
hallway for a first-hand look.
“Oh! She’s so beautiful,”
Lauren announced, reaching in to rub her nose.
“Oh! Yes!” echoed Lexi. “She
looks like---Ice Crystal!” she giggled.
“Let’s ride her!” exclaimed
Anna, her excitement jumping a step ahead of the others.
Everyone laughed at her
joyful enthusiasm.
That was Anna Marie, her
youthful exuberance naturally squeezing every drop of goodness and excitement
and satisfaction from each and every event in her young life. Not that the
others had not thought the obvious, Annie Rie had always displayed a proclivity
to push every situation to its limits and beyond---and…of course, and, most
importantly, immediately.
Bapa and Nanny’s progeny
held a zest for life, born of their ancestry, which allowed each to make every
day an adventure, or better, a series of events which demanded celebration.
Life was abundantly full of excitement if only one knew “where” to look, and,
most importantly, “how” to see. The two elders gave one another a pleasing look
of knowing contentment and pride.
There was no room for
boredom here. As Bapa often quipped, “”Bored people are boring people!” This
family had proclaimed a silent “Amen!” to that prayer in every aspect of their
daily activities. Each day was a perpetual celebration of the events that
filled their time and which value was not lost on their appreciation of life and---mostly…one
another.
These children were the
personification of heaven-sent spirits
in human apparitions; this gift of understanding permeated each personality of the
family members. To live and enjoy life was one thing; to be “in excitement” of
life was quite another. Bapa often explained the phenomenon when he would say,
“I not only love you, I am ‘in love’ with loving you.” They lived the virtue.
“Well,” Bapa cautioned, “we
can ride her, but, gently. We’ll have to baby her for a while. You’ll need to
use a blanket saddle on her at first.”
Three sets of tiny hands now
petted and patted the grey filly as she nickered soft appreciation.
“But why, Bapa,” asked Lexi,
“is she sick?”
The old man laughed. “No,”
he replied, “but let me ask you girls a question: Could there be any better
Christmas present than this half-Arab, half-Morgan filly?’
“That’s a Morab,” informed
the “Little Professor”.
“And, no. She doesn’t look
sick,” she giggled through gleaming white teeth which was her perpetual smile,
“and I don’t know how this could be any better.”
She paused, thinking. Then,
“Unless she has a twin!”
Two blonde heads nodded in
agreement.
“Well, ” Bapa said, “there
is no twin, but maybe soon, a clone.” He paused.
The girls looked at one
another; innocent eyes displaying puzzlement.
“She’s going to have a foal
in April!” Bapa announced, smiling broadly.
“Oh! Yea!” came cacophonous
shouts of excited exclamation. Their loving pats became a bit more subdued with
the announcement, but no less intense in number.
Lexli Lu sobered,
remembering his admonitions about babying the filly when they rode her.
“But Bapa. We don’t have a
blanket saddle,” she announced, sadly.
“Now, now, Lexi. You girls will
be opening some presents after supper
this evening. I’ll just bet ‘ole’ Santa didn’t forget anything,” Nanny said,
teasingly.
Knowingly, the three girls
giggled and yelled, “Yea!”
Later, Nanny smiled as she
stood at the living room window where she watched. Her brood was in the lot
between the barn and the house. The snow had let up after depositing four
inches of fresh white fluff, beautifying the farmstead in a Currier & Ives
Christmas landscape scene.
Z. Tyler held the grey horse
with a nylon lunge line secured to a new red halter adorning the Morab’s head.
He kept the restraint short as the girls patted and petted her, taking turns
sitting on her back; they had already fed her carrots secured from Nanny’s
winter stash in the root cellar.
Beth and Becky, the old
couple’s daughters, held Lofty, the sixteen hand tall gelding, so as to include
him in the festivities; he had eaten his fair share of carrots, too. No one was
ever left out. Even Ella and Goldie had joined the party and had buddied-up to
the new filly. Zoe coyly watched from the living room window, enjoying the
warmth and comfort of her home.
Bapa had fired up the silver
tractor and with the blade attached, had plowed a thirty-foot diameter circle
in the lot which served as a natural riding ring.
“Funny,” thought Nanny,
contentedly observing her fine family while focusing on her husband, “he’s
never too busy nor out of time to do something especially nice to please
others.”
This would be…oops! She caught
herself, this already was, a fine Christmas. Once she had overheard a friend
ask Bapa which Christmas had been the best for him. He had replied immediately
and without consideration, as was his
way, “Why, that’s easy. The best
Christmas always---’twas, the last…last Christmas past.”
“Really?” the friend had
blankly asked, unsure of what to say.
“Always!” came Bapa’s
immediate reply, confusing her even more.
It was the final line of a
poem he had written years earlier. Nanny often wondered if the woman had ever
gotten his meaning. “No!” she had correctly surmised. It didn’t matter; she
knew it was true.
Z. Tyler lunged the filly so
all could assess and appreciate how she moved. His athletic ability and natural
ease in adapting to any situation allowed him to deftly handle the horse as
easily and expertly as any “cowboy” born to the saddle. Reversing direction,
the Morab correctly changed leads at the canter, a natural ability, but one she
would be required to re-learn once a rider was on her back. She would then be
cued with the outside heel of the master’s foot as she changed direction and
lead with her inside front leg, the inside leg would follow naturally.
As he let out the loops of
coiled braid, the filly’s nostrils flared, her refined ears perked up, she
tucked her head and broke into a floating trot when the length of line had
played out. Then, her black tail shot up as she proudly put on a show. When she
broke into a canter, it was clear that her ride would be smooth and fast. This
was one fine horse. Bapa had a good eye for horse flesh as he had grown up
around the equines and possessed a natural sense and vast knowledge.
After Bapa watched the filly
walk, trot and canter, left and right, for a few minutes, he proceeded to blade
the driveway to the county road. Two passes opened the road for safe passage.
The snow had stopped and blue sky was pushing away the steel grey-blue clouds
remnants of a spent winter storm. The warming air was reminiscent of the
freshness present after a cleansing spring shower although the winter afternoon
was still plenty cool.
“A good omen,” he concluded,
always cognizant of the weather subtleties.
Later, amid scads of
wrapping paper, seeming miles of ribbon, a display of toys, games, clothes and
goodies to make a department store manager envious, the clan began to settle
in, reflecting on their good fortune, satiated physically with good food,
socially with good company, spiritually with Christmas love. In a while, they
would attend midnight mass in the little country church. It was a holy place,
always welcoming, but on Christmas, it glowed with golden heavenly warmth. All
was good; all was perfect. Silent Night!
Nanny came to sit on the arm
of the recliner where Bapa reposed; she gave his hand a soft squeeze; their
eyes met and she nodded, smiling.
“Who would have ever
believed all of this could have started with one little innocent kiss?” she
teased. Smiling, she added in a sultry whisper, “I just love that old
bandstand.”
He returned her smile and
hugged her close. “Me, too!” he said.
They were as one.
Occasionally, they would laugh, one telling the other that talk between them
had become unnecessary through the years, as the thought of one, prior to
taking voice, would be spoken by the other.
“We’ve been together too
long,” he would tease. “You can read my mind.”
The girls were settling
down, somewhat. Bapa took advantage of the slight lull in the activity.
“Before you all fall asleep
from exhaustion and go off to dreamland,” Bapa said, “I think we should name
that filly.”
Lauren and Lexi brightened
and sat up amid the rubble of paper and gifts. Even Annie Rie, who had been in
the throes of sleep and quiet dreams of Santa Claus, stirred to wakefulness.
“Oh! Yes! Bapa.” Lauren
agreed.
“Princess,” she offered,
quickly, reflective of the three girls’ shared love of fairy-tales and movies
about such fantasy.
“Princess,” Lexi seconded.
Then, realizing she had parroted her cousin‘s offering, she quickly added,
“Or---Snowflake?” The second offering was weak in its proposal; anything Lauren
thought was okay with her. A smile adorned her bright face, glowingly framed by
long blonde curls which jostled in bouncing rhythm as she shook he head at her
presumptuous redundancy.
Chuckling with the others,
Nanny chimed in, “How about you, Anna Marie? What name do you suggest?”
Yawning and still in
half-slumber, the little blonde six year old shook her head slightly to clear
the sugar-plumbs; she rubbed one eye with the back of a tiny hand, looked
around her from face to face as if searching the family members for guidance to
choose just the perfect moniker.
Finally…“Christmas Magic!”
she exclaimed in childlike innocence, endearingly spiritual, as though her
reply had been inspired by grace. Then, she closed her eyes and slept soundly,
a hint of a smile showing on her pretty face like an angel in repose.
So be it! And , so it is!
Christmas Magic!
Amen!
