I saw an item in a holiday roundup piece in The Boston Globe that brought me right back to my childhood.
Every December in the 1960s, my parents would drive my sister and me the 40 miles to The Hub from our home in southeastern Massachusetts, to see “the lights” in the big city and the Enchanted Village display at the Jordan Marsh store.
Now I was reading that the display lives on at Jordan’s Furniture in the town of Avon.
I sighed, remembering the magic. Well, the downright enchantment of the animated characters in the cozy holiday tableaus.
I just loved it. The experience kept my imagination fired up for weeks.
Driving around our town and looking at residential displays in our town did not have the same effect on me, not surprisingly. Still, I did enjoy it and it was part of our Christmas traditions. Certain streets were known for putting on a show — which usually entailed big-bulb, multicolored lights outlining the houses and any trees in the front yard, plus the requisite Santa and reindeers frolicking across the lawn.
Did the neighbors agree among themselves to be a holiday destination? Or were these displays the result of cutthroat competition? I was too young to understand any backstage machinations.
Once we had seen, and critiqued, the local light shows, my mother would cart us off to the National Shrine of Our Lady of La Salette in the nearby city of Attleboro. (I was pleased to see in the Globe article that this display continues.) I don’t remember my father ever going with us. Maybe he was home watching hockey?
I delighted in seeing the outdoor religious displays and grottos decorated for the sacred day, but I especially looked forward to getting hot chocolate in the cafeteria at the end of the trek. (Our trek invariably involved some praying along the way. I got thirsty.)
Despite their interest in Christmas light displays, my parents did not go overboard on decorating. We always had a well-lighted tree with a lot of tinsel, and some years there were bright, giant plastic candles skirting the front stairs. Sometimes (I’m guessing it depended on Dad’s mood), the living room picture window would be ringed with colorful bulbs. That’s about it.
I too am restrained in my decorating. There are no huge, inflatable singing elves on my front lawn. But I am still all about the lights during the holiday season. They bring me joy and are a big part of my seasonal celebrations. They also help me to enjoy winter more.
Lights keep the darkness, literal and metaphorical, at bay.
My husband, Paul, and I don’t have a Christmas tree because we have cats. Enough said. However, we decorate the 7-foot fig tree in the living room with the treasured ornaments we’ve collected in 37 years of marriage, plus a couple strands of blue fairy lights.
I waited too long to buy the lights one year and all I could find was blue. But I like them.
Two years ago, I decided I wanted to put battery-operated candles in the living room front windows. Then last year I decided four weren’t enough. I needed more — in the dining room, Paul’s study and the kitchen.
This year, the wreath on the porch lights up.
We also have a lantern with a cardinal (my favorite bird) motif that friends gave us a few years ago. Last week I found a light-up townhouse tin at Target filled with British shortbread cookies.
Around 3:45 p.m. each day, I walk around with a tiny remote control, flicking on candles. Then I turn on the tree, the wreath, the lantern and the tin house. Aah. If Paul has a fire going in the woodstove, all the better.
It may be gloomy and dark outside, but it’s bright inside.
Around 8 p.m., everything goes off. Then, the next morning, at 5, I light up the house again for a couple of hours.
We’ll leave the ornaments on until Epiphany, Jan. 6, but keep using the lights until the spring equinox in March. When it finally arrives I am finally ready to put them away.
In the meantime, I am enjoying, and appreciating, my lights.
There’s a lot to be said for the communal experience of viewing the Enchanted Village, the La Salette shrine, or “Gardens Aglow” at the Coastal Maine Botanical Gardens (also mentioned in the article).
I just hope my modest lights give a glimmer of hope and peace to passersby.
This column originally had a different ending. In it, I was heading off to bake some of Jordan Marsh’s famous blueberry muffins.
But minutes after I finished writing and closed the file, the lights flickered and went off.
We were without power for eight and a half hours. I put on my battery-operated candles and lit some wax ones. Paul and I were sure we were in for a long siege of cold and dark, and were overjoyed when we were awash in light once again early in the evening.
I was grateful, knowing so many were still without. I turned on the Christmas tree, and said a prayer of thanks. For the lights.
Liz Soares welcomes email at lizzie621@icloud.com.
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