Dear Ghost of Christmas Past,

I know you so well. I know that you love pecans and peanut butter fudge and reading good books while sitting by a wood fire.  I love the way your eyes brighten and you look your best, invigorated and alive, in the great out-of-doors; snow covering your boots, up to your calves, even your knees. We have a lot of history. We have made beautiful music together haven’t we, Ghost?  Christmas after Christmas, pleasant harmonies with two or four or twelve or 56.  Yes, Ghost of Christmas Past, I remember producing, costuming, directing, acting in holiday theatre.  What about the years as parade announcer, narrator?  And oh!  Remember the events? Sitting in the audience for Disney on Ice, The Nutcracker, The Colorado Symphony Orchestra and the spectacular Colorado Children’s Chorale. Remember the Conifer High School Marching Band freezing before the parade and marching gingerly over the ice so as not to fall and dent shiny tubas, mellophones and flags? And before that, remember a blond-haired 13-year-old standing in a tux and spotlight on the stage at Boettcher Concert Hall soloing “Hark the Herald Angels Sing.” I had almost forgotten.  Thank you, thank you, Ghost of Christmas Past for this journey down memory lane. There have been lean years and one or two fat years. I have loved the finding and giving just the right gift and hated the stress of being unable to find the right gift; chafed at the loneliness of buying my own gift after I got over the self-pity of not having any gifts at all; hated not being able to afford the right gift for the right people or wood for the warmth of growing children. As I said, we have a lot of history. And then, there were the tears; seasons of parting and temporary good-byes that turned out to be permanent. But the tears I remember most are the tears of surprised joy. Remember that year?  The year I learned it was possible to cry from overwhelming love and beauty?  I was thirteen and feeling displaced in so many ways. Poorer than usual, I steeled myself for an empty Christmas.  I expected nothing. And then someone gifted me a small piece of costume jewelry – a rhinestone pin in the shape of a trumpet and I was undone.  As if the gift was not enough, we were hustled about to put on our coats and hop in the car. Tickets. Tickets to the Ice Capades. That Christmas exceeded my wildest dreams.  Why?  Because someone, there in my universe, knew me so well. You know me, Ghost of Christmas Past, as well as I know you. But I cannot live there in the past, and that too I know so well.