My last 36 Christmases have been white.
Ever since moving to Maine in 1980 to attend the University of Maine at Fort Kent, snow and the holidays have been pretty much a constant. And, let’s be honest, does anything scream “home for the holidays” like a blanket of fresh snow or big, fluffy falling snowflakes?
Maybe only one thing — actually being home for the holidays.
Yep, for the first time since 1979, I’ll be saying Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah and Season’s Greetings not from the cozy confines of Rusty Metal Farm, but from the rain soaked Pacific Northwest and my hometown of Portland — the other one.
I can’t believe how fast three-plus decades of holidays has flown by, because while have visited Portland, Oregon, numerous times since my move East, timing, finances, commitments and other factors kept me from spending the season with my family out here.
And trust me, that is not to take away from the dozens of Christmases and Christmas Eves spent in Maine with my in-laws, who from the moment my late husband Patrick introduced me to them to years after his death have made it perfectly clear I am family and am always welcome at their table.
Or for the Christmas mornings made so memorable and special by my friend Kim Paradis who made sure I was never alone over the holidays after the death of Patrick.
For that I am forever grateful.
But at the same time, I’ve missed the holidays I remembered from my youth, the yuletide glow of the city all dressed up for the season and the time spent with my family here in the West.
So, thanks to available time and the fact Air Canada had some pretty awesome ticket deals for December, early Monday morning I boarded a plane in Quebec City and by 4 p.m. Pacific time, I was gazing at Christmas trees in Portland, Oregon.
Certainly, a big part of my excitement at returning home was wrapped up in 37-year-old memories of Christmas past.
Memories of the city decorated within an inch of its life and everyone from business owners to store clerks to passersby on the sidewalk all being a bit cheerier, a bit more prone to smile that last part of December than in the preceding 11 months.
I remember growing up out here and the childhood anticipation of knowing that on my birthday — which is several days before Christmas — I’d be attending the annual Meier & Frank “Breakfast with Santa” event at that Portland department store.
I remember in addition to the Jolly Old Elf himself, Meier & Frank would transform its entire 10th floor into Santa’s Village complete with a child-sized fully operational monorail that circled the village and provided a flying-reindeer’s eye view of toys, goodies and decorations.
I remember shyly approaching Santa to whisper my holiday wants and dreams into his ear.
Of course, those conversations were not always all tinsel and glitter.
One year when he asked amid a series of “ho, ho, hos” what I wanted for Christmas, I looked up and confessed my longing for a battery-powered race track with remote controlled cars.
Santa blinked, looked at me and uttered the never-forgotten words, “Are you a girl elf, or a boy elf?”
A feminist was born that day.
I remember those amazing and seemingly larger than life celebrations at the home of my paternal grandparents with all my cousins, aunts and uncles and enough food, presents and fun to make banishment to the “kids’ table” not only bearable, but preferable.
I remember my maternal grandparents taking me to the Christmas Village at the old Alpenrose Dairy just outside the city where the miniature houses, barns, workshops and school houses were inhabited by baby goats, calves and bunnies.
All these memories and more are in my mind right now, as are the memories of those not here to share them — those wonderful grandparents, my own parents and, of course, Patrick who made every single day we spent together feel like a holiday.
So, can you go home again for the holidays?
As I walk the sidewalks of the city with my best high school friend Marjie and brush past memories decades, old, yeah, I think you really can.
So, to all of you reading this, I hope wherever you are it is in one way or another home and you are in the company of those you hold dear.
From my home here in Portland, to yours:
Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah and Season’s Greetings!
Julia Bayly of Fort Kent is an award-winning writer and photographer, who writes part time for Bangor Daily News. Her column appears here every other Friday. She can be reached by email at jbayly@bangordailynews.com.
