I’ve always made a habit of doing something new and
different every Christmas season in an attempt to establish a new tradition to carry
on through the years. But this
past Christmas, I didn’t bother to make my usual attempt. I think maybe it was because I realized it was much more fun when my husband (a.k.a. Scrooge’s long-lost son) was
alive. I used to take great pleasure in asking him to take me to new and unusual
places every year...and then listening to him grumble about them.
One Christmas, I convinced him to go to a street in Laconia
where all of the homeowners competed each year to see which one could string up
the most lights…and run up the highest electric bill.
The next year, we drove to a house in Raymond where a
gazillion lights were synchronized to flash in time to the beat of music that
was broadcast over our car radio.
And then there was a mile-long private trail in
Massachusetts that was lined with enough lights to signal alien life-forms on
their home planets. That place,
however, charged a pretty steep admission fee, which my husband, in his best Scrooge manner, muttered about
for weeks afterwards.
But one year, I actually succeeded in finding a holiday
attraction we both ended up feeling might be a top contender to become our annual
Christmas tradition. Getting there, however, wasn’t easy.
It all began when I surprised my husband by asking him to
take me someplace that didn’t involve a display of lights bright enough to burn
out his corneas.
“It’s called Beaver Brook Museum in Mont Vernon,” I
excitedly told him. “It has 80,000 square feet of Christmas stuff
– over 100 decorated trees, real trains, 40 sleighs,
horse-drawn carriages, a covered wagon, an 18th-century village, the
largest Christmas animation display in the entire Northeast, and all kinds of
Santa Clauses, from tiny to two stories tall!”
His expression told me he’d rather be tied naked to a
cactus. “Yeah, I guess we can go sometime,” he said.
“It’s open only on Sundays, from Thanksgiving to New Year’s
Day, and that’s it for the whole year,” I said. When he still looked less than enthused, I added, “And the best
part is it’s free to the public!”
So the next Sunday, he agreed to take me to the museum. I eagerly climbed into his van and waited
for him to start it. He turned the
ignition key. Nothing happened. He
turned the key again. Still nothing.
“Looks like the battery is dead,” he said. “And I don’t have
any jumper cables. I guess we can’t
go. It’ll be too late by the time AAA
gets here.”
For a moment I actually suspected he’d sabotaged his own van
just to get out of going to the museum.
Even though my car was available and we could have used it, my husband
always was uncomfortable in it because he liked a “roomy” seat, so he avoided
setting foot in it unless it was an extreme emergency…and going to the museum
didn’t qualify as an emergency.
Still, I wasn’t about to give up, so I called our neighbor,
who was a mechanic. He said he’d be right over with his jumper cables.
He arrived looking pale and tired. “I’ve been home sick all week with some kind of bug,” he
explained as he hooked up the cables from my car to the van. As he did, I suspected he probably would
have preferred to wrap them around my neck and choke me with them for getting
him out of his sick bed.
Finally, my husband and I were on our way to Mont
Vernon. We’d gone only about six miles
when he turned to me and asked, “What did you do with my keys to your car – the
ones I gave you to start it with when we boosted the battery?”
I smiled stiffly.
“Um...I left them in the ignition.”
“The house keys are on that key ring,” he said. “Did you
bring your house keys with you?”
I shook my head. “I
left them on the kitchen counter.”
The next thing I knew, we were heading back home.
There, in the ignition where I’d left them in my unlocked
car, were the keys. I grabbed them,
jumped back into the van and once again, we headed toward the museum.
“You know, I’m beginning to think all of this is an omen,”
my husband said. “Maybe we shouldn’t go.”
“Nice try,” I said. “Just keep driving.”
 |
| Giant elves on a tractor |
The museum turned out to be worth every minute of the
trouble we’d had getting there. The
minute we stepped inside the huge, rustic barn, we were transported back to the
Christmases of yesteryear.
There was a full-sized train car, in which children were
seated and a conductor in full uniform was reading “The Polar Express” to
them. Santa, with his genuine white
hair and beard (no fake cotton beard for this guy), was seated on an elegant
throne-like chair and greeting everyone.
There were mannequins in festive outfits, a giant figure of
Santa two stories high and a full-sized helicopter and airplane surrounded by
brightly lit Christmas trees – all indoors! There even was a carousel not too
far from a huge figure of Humpty Dumpty and a giant smiling hippo-potamus. The smell of hot cocoa and freshly popped
popcorn drifted from the snack bar.
 |
| Mannequin |
My husband didn’t want to admit it, but he was having a good
time. “Look!” he said, pointing at a display of beavers dressed in hats and
scarves and using saws and axes to cut down fake trees. “Isn’t that cute?”
I was too busy trying to get a better look at a
Christmas-tree ornament bigger than a beach ball, with a whole village, a
moving train and flying reindeer inside.
 |
| Huge Ornament |
I overheard one of the workers telling some visitors,
“Everyone who comes here can’t help but leave with Christmas spirit… even the
Scrooges!”
I think he was right, because my husband whistled “Jingle
Bells” all the way home.
We had found our annual tradition at long last, we decided.
We also decided we would go to the museum every Christmas season from then on. There was so much to see
there, we figured it would take us at least 10 more Christmases to see it all anyway.
Unfortunately, the very next year, the museum building collapsed and was
forced to close its doors because it was damaged beyond repair.
I was devastated when I heard the news.
My husband, however, seemed unfazed and decided to establish his own Christmas
tradition...staying home in his pajamas, curling up on the sofa and binge-watching “A
Christmas Story.”
# # #
 |
| CLICK HERE ==> https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/384106 |
No comments:
Post a Comment