There's Something Magical - Christmas Memories of Bavaria
By Karen H.
Winter Landscape
Photo: Karen H.
There's Something Magical about the first winter landscape of the season. The trees, some still clinging to their orange-colored and wilted leaves, covered in snow against the backdrop of a mouse grey sky, the very silence of the snow falling - it always takes me back to the winters of my childhood at my grandmother's house.
I guess the magic of winter is inevitably tied to the magic of Christmases past.
Christmas Eve at my grandmother's house was always the best day of the year; and the routine was always the same. After dinner, the living room was off limits to all children in the family, in order for my grandfather to have time to sneak in the Christmas tree and get it set up for my grandmother to decorate it. Dinner was always the same, sausages (wieners) and potato salad. I was never hungry Christmas eve; instead, I hoped that the minutes which seeemed to be passing sooooo slowly would hurry themselves up so that the "Christkind" would finally come, bringing us presents.
The grown-ups present were given the task of cleaning up the kitchen and washing the dishes, while we children, usually my two cousins, Sylvia and Alexandra and I, were banned to the bedroom to go play. In our growing impatience, we would sometimes leave the bedroom for the hallway, where we would try to sneak a peak into the living room, hoping for a glimpse of the "Christkind" through the keyhole; when we did succeed and made it to the keyhole without getting caught, we never saw anything - probably because of my grandmother's foresight in covering the hole from the other side.
Candle on Traditional Christmas Tree
Photo: Karen H.
I still have the imagine in my head of the view granted us when finally a bell ringing in the living room signaled that the Christkind had been there. Omi, my grandmother, even used to open the window in order to cool down the room a bit to make the Christkind's visit even more "real" to us children. (The Christkind would come through the window, as there was no fireplace). I am not sure which year it was - perhaps the memory is a combination of many Christmas Eves at Omi's house. The living room door was opened, and I saw a tree in the living room, decorated with silver glass balls, heavy silver icycles, and what seemed like hundreds of small white candles, every single one of them freshly lit - only their dancing flames lighting up the room. Off in another corner of the room, neatly wrapped presents and lined up on a sideboard the "Bunte Teller" - a plate full of various nuts, special Christmas chocolates, oranges and tangerines. Every one received their own "Bunten Teller" - a tradition I loved so much, that I carried it with me as far as Chicago.
After the door was opened, it was time to sing Christmas carols, "Silent Night" and "O Du Fröhliche" (Oh Sanctissimo) were always sung. My grandparents had six daughters, so there were always more than enough voices present to chime in. After the singing was over, everyone wished one another "Merry Christmas" and then it was time to exchange presents.
But it was that moment, that very moment when the living room door was opened for us children and we could see the tree and the lit candles and the festive setting - that moment was magic. I know it's the best magical moment I've ever experienced.
Christmas at Omi's house was the best. I haven't experienced a single Christmas since those days which could even come close to Christmas at Omi's.
It is the memory of those Christmases that cause me to spend the "blue" hour of Christmas eve (when it begins to get dark and the sky and all surroundings take on a deep shade of blue) usually sitting on the floor next to my Christmas tree with no other lights but its candles, sipping a glass of wine, listening to "Oh Du Fröhliche" and thinking of my Omi.
Karen lives in Bavaria and publishes a weblog, "Tati's Weblog"
