Dear Grandma:
Here it is, Christmas once
again. Seems like just a year ago that I wrote a letter to you. Hey, I guess it
was a year.
I know I shouldn’t put on
my rose colored glasses and remember you and the Christmas of old. But I can’t
help it for just a few minutes. How can I forget those chocolate cookies? Cindy
still makes them, from a recipe card with your familiar writing. Or the way we
sat in church on Christmas Eve and sang Silent Night. You had to caution me to
be careful when I lit my candle. I probably rolled my eyes.
Then at some point, as we
ripped through our presents, you would tell about getting a big orange when you
were a girl in Nebraska, and how good that orange smelled and tasted. I thought
it was boring then, but I still remember it now.
I could go on, but that
will carry me through for a while. It’s not a bad thing to remember the old
days at Christmas time, as long as you don’t dwell there. Α friend
of mine, Red Hansen, wrote a poem about his folks about 20 years ago that his
daughter, Arla, sent with her Christmas letter. I’d like to share it:
Beautiful Night
by: Red Hansen
How bright the night, how
bright the stars, the crunching snow, no sound, no cars. How still the night.
The dog stands quietly,
tail a-wagging, wondering why the master was lagging with the path in sight.
Thirty-five years since my dad walked here on a wooded path he
held so dear, on just such a night.
My feet led me on where the house used to be, almost, yes almost a
house Ι could see, with the windows alight.
Inside would be Mother, the supper cooking. For Dad and I, she
would be looking. The Christmas tree bright.
There were candy and cookies and food galore, and family love. Who
could need for more? On just such a night. Oh, what a night.
Α nudge on my leg to let me know my dog
was impatient. Time to go.
I bet Red’s parents
enjoyed seeing him at Christmas as much as he did them. Maybe you have met them
Up There.
 |
| David and Red making sweet Christmas music. |
Red brightened my
Christmas this year too. I was going over some songs to play at a St. Lucia
church program last Friday, and I found a sheet of paper called “Christmas
Songs w/Red.”
There was a song called
“Beautiful Is the Heaven’s Blue.” I looked it up in the hymnal but it wasn’t
there. That didn’t totally surprise me, because Red has a way of giving songs
his own titles based on his Danish translation and the poet in him.
I called him up and asked
him how it went. He hummed the whole song. It was familiar and beautiful.
“Does it have a different
name?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” he
answered. “Hey Hedda does that song have a different name?”
“What song?” I heard
Hertha holler back
“Beautiful Is the Heaven’s
Blue!” He started humming it to her. Hertha didn’t know either.
I thought it would be an
unsolved mystery. But soon the phone rang again, as I had a hunch it would.
This time Red had called in the big gun, in this case Arla, who is carrying on
her dad’s tradition as human computer of songs and hymns. “Look on page 75 of
the hymnal,” she said. “It’s called ‘Bright and Glorious is the sky’.”
There it was, note for
note as Red had hummed it, and as I had sung it, perhaps with you by my side
back in those rose-colored years when I was eight and it was always snowing.·
It was a great discovery.
Finding an old Christmas hymn is like finding a silver dollar. If I hadn’t met
Red, if he hadn’t taught so many songs, if I hadn’t seen that old list, if I
hadn’t called him, if he hadn’t asked Arla, I would have been a bit poorer this
Christmas.
I played it for the ladies
at St. Lucia, and they loved it. Then I stopped at the nursing home on the way
home and played it for an old friend. She can’t talk anymore, but her smile
told that she liked it too.
Music is one of those
things that gives life and strength. And it keeps giving. It’s a big part of
Christmas, and one that I know you always
enjoyed. Maybe you still do. I’ll be thinking of· you
as I play them this Christmas season.
Love, David
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