The Magic Of

It began innocently enough.

Black Friday was a gray day, sans leftovers. Yesterday’s holiday meal was festive in the beautifuly decorated community dining room despite a resident’s recently diagnosed case of Covid.\

My friends and I were eager to forget the cloud of opposing political views and enjoy an unorthodox Thanksgiving together. We all opted to forgo dinner invitations with family this troubling year of 2020.

While tempted with the prospect of family interaction, the warnings of exposure took precedence and three of us joined other residents for the annual Thanksgiving feast.

All went well and while there were fragile excursions into opposing political views, being good friends, no sensitive boundaries were crossed. The traditional menu was well prepared and an opening goblet of a Bloody Mary added to the ambiance andl tenuous attempt at festivity.

The next morning, however, aptly named Black Friday. was dark and gloomy and there were no leftover drumsticks in the fridge to munch on.

I decided it was a good time to update my Christmas playlist and download it into Alexa. Possibly, that would shatter any slivers of unneeded depression,

As I rummaged between the many choices, voices and traditional tunes, each one brought back a distinct memory of other years, other places, but mostly other companions who once shared my complicated lane of life.

The very first, of course, was Silent Night, and I briefly returned to a living room in Hells Kitchen where annually a young red haired man and I trimmed a tall Christmas tree. We always did that together, my Father and I. Each year, Dad turned on the console radio so we could listen to Christmas music as we carefully plucked the fragile glass ornaments and placed them gingerly on the green branches.

Before the warmth of the memory began to fade, I moved quickly to put James Galway’s version into my 2020 Christmas playlist. His lovely musical magic evoked the quiet peace my Father and I always shared when we were together, and then I felt a chill of loss as I mourned my wonderful parent.

Moving quickly to dispel any tinge of unrequited gloom, I quickly searched for another favorite, White Christmas.

As the melody floated softly off Kenny G’s amazing recording, I recalled walking down Fifth Avenue holding hands with the young man who would share my life, my world, for 57 years. It was the first Christmas we spent together, and we were shopping for a Christmas gift for his Mother. When the snow flakes began to float down, effortlessly and softly melting, we stopped for Hot Chocolate in a small coffee shop around the corner from Lord and Taylors. Sitting by the window, we listened as the sounds of White Christmas sung by a Salvation Army trio wafted through the cold night adding to the magic of Christmas and young love.

I knew it was time to move on, and relinquish yesterdays, so I returned quickly to my browse and search menu looking for another favorite, The Drummer Boy. There were an abundance of choices, but I knew immediately which one I wanted.

The Little Drummer Boy recorded by The Mormon Tabernacle Choir was the one I immediately selected. It always evokes the snowy December nights when I heard the melody performed by the remarkable St. Kilian Boy Choir in Farmingdale, NY. The young boy soprano, Kevin O’Connell, had a voice kissed by angels and brought tears of joy to all who heard him. The background of other young voices enhanced the magic of the Midnight Christmas Service. Among the young faces I remembered was my oldest son, my joy, my Lost Sheep, and for a very brief moment I still felt the love we once shared.

My playlist is complete, the memories tucked away but they have left me with strength to face another day, another step on the path of life I have been given,

And also, to always remember the happy moments I have known, shared and must never relinquish,.