The Ghosts of Christmas Past Beckon

Every year I recall the Charles Dickens classic “A Christmas Carol.” It’s the story of Ebenezer Scrooge, an elderly miser who is visited by the ghost of his former business partner, Jacob Marley, and the spirits of Christmas past, present and yet to come. We all know what happens at the end, but that’s not why it sticks in my mind.

For me, and I expect for many, the ghost of Christmas past visits us annually in the form of many memories that come alive in this altered state between our eyes. Sometimes they stream like an old movie with static interruptions that flip me through the decades.

I remember the small tabletop tree in our North Miami Beach apartment with just me, my mother and grandfather in the early 1970s. Then, fast-forward to the late ’70s and the chill of winter in New York with big holiday bashes in my aunt’s wood-paneled basement – lots of laughter, eating, dancing and drinking, with several families under one roof. The pork roast was delivered with an apple in its mouth (which I thought was rather disgusting). Sorry, no babying a pig all day over a “caja china” or pit for us in Flushing, Queens, on Nochebuena. “Juanito Caminando,” aka Johnny Walker, was busy making the rounds and I loved taking it all in.

After my aunt died of cancer, Christmas became different as people started going their own separate ways. My mother started hosting smaller, less boisterous gatherings, but I never missed one, whether I had to take Amtrak or American Airlines to get there.

By 1995 and back in Miami, babies started coming. Not long afterward, it became important for me to start my own Christmas traditions, which included keeping Santa Claus alive for as long as possible and convincing Mom to let me host Christmas Eve dinner. We became a party of five and then six, and once in a while eight or 10, if extended family came to join us or if – now well into the new millennium – a boyfriend appeared. That was always interesting.

It’s 2021 and things have changed. My mother and stepfather have Alzheimer’s. They won’t remember Christmas dinner – the paella I’ll serve or the fresh sangria I’ll make – but they will enjoy it in the moment. Everything is in the moment. Spending the holiday with them will conjure the ghost of Christmas past and it will be a melancholy visit, with me wanting desperately to turn back time, to perhaps 2002. That would be a good year, with little girls tearing through wrapping paper, a mess of bows and boxes all over, and new toys making fresh sounds while squeals of delight filled the air. Collapsing on Dec. 26 felt good.

As I scroll through Facebook and see friends with new grandchildren, I smile and think about how their holiday will change now with new life in the picture. I’m not there yet.

The spirits of Christmas present and yet to come are telling me to try new things. I had a Jewish friend who always cruised over Christmas. She said the ship was full of people looking to escape their relatives so they could make their own fun – starting by decorating their cabin door with tinsel, lights, bows and wrapping paper.

If I ever cruise over Christmas I would have to pack a tree and bring my kids and husband with me, but I’m not sure I’m ready to depart from tradition that drastically. Perhaps a change of scenery would be refreshing – in a couple of years.

I’ll haul out my tree from the garage for now (yes, it’s artificial) and decorate it as always with all the ornaments I’ve collected from every town and city I’ve ever visited; ornaments I handcrafted out of Sanibel Island seashells and sand dollars; hanging picture frames with photos of my daughters when they were little; and a few relics from that little tabletop tree in North Miami Beach that I’ve saved for 50 years. That ghost of Christmas past sure is pesky.

Emily Cardenas is the executive editor of the Biscayne Times. She previously worked as a producer at WTXF in Philadelphia and at WSCV, WFOR and WPLG in Miami.