On the Eighth Day of a Feminine Christmas

There is one Christmas song that makes me wistfully come to a full-stop. I usually drop down into the nearest chair and just listen to the lyrics of the poignant song Toyland especially sung by Doris Day. It makes me think of my big brother who adored Christmas when we were small. I never saw anyone so excited on Christmas morning as Peter. Today, Toyland stirs a misty poignancy in my heart. It is love, joy and now a searing feeling of loss since losing my younger brother, Paul.

Spoken words had little to do with my relationship with my siblings. We co-existed in a rollicking childhood playground of acute observations (who got more marshmallows in their cocoa?), abruptly changing alliances and short-lived grudges. Small children live in a world directed by the senses and underneath our impulses, we were fiercely loyal. Led by Peter in all things but especially Christmas morning, when he woke us at 5:00 am with his holiday exuberance. So embedded is this memory that even today, if I rise before 5 o’clock on a dark winter morning, I get a fleeting but strong Christmas sensation in my soul.

The image above looks like Peter and I. And Toyland was our song as we gathered our precious childhood souvenirs through the years. The most important of which was our devotion to one another.

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