GAIL WHITE People, not presents, make Christmas memories

I have been Scrooged!
One morning, sitting in my chair, sipping a cup of tea, I was reviewing the children's Christmas lists, preparing for the onslaught of the busy holiday season.
Suddenly, my mind was swept away to the Christmases of my past.
Memories from childhood Christmases filled my thoughts.
Traveling through each year, consumed in the memories, I became surprised by what I remembered about my past Christmases.
Though sitting in my living room chair, suddenly, I was 25 years younger, sitting in the back of my family's station wagon with my brother and sister, singing "Over the River and Through the Woods ..."
It was Christmas Eve and we were making the hourlong trip to my grandparents' house in Pennsylvania.
When we grew tired of singing, we counted Christmas trees in the windows of houses along the road.
Though the car was very cold, I remember the warm feeling I felt inside.
In my mind, we arrive at Grandma's house.
I remember trudging through the snow, stomping my feet on my grandparents' porch to knock the snow off my shoes, and opening the door.
Surrounded by warmth: The cold of the outdoors is gone immediately. Perhaps it is the warmth of the house. Perhaps it is the warmth of the greetings of aunts and uncles and cousins waiting inside.
In my mind's eye, I can still see the Christmas tree sparkling in the corner of my grandparents' living room and the silver "Happy New Year" string of letters hanging above the kitchen sink.
My memory travels to the dining room table, filled with Christmas goodies.
Grandma's "poisonous" gumdrop tree is what I spy.
"Those gumdrops are poisonous," I can hear her say, pointing to the drops on the plastic tree. The gumdrops in the tray were not.
In my memory, I am standing around the gumdrop tree with my brother, sister and cousins, wondering how the ones in the tray could not be poisonous and daring one another to eat one off the tree.
Returning for a moment from my journey into Christmases past, I laugh aloud.
It was years before we realized the gumdrops were not really poisonous; Grandma just didn't want to keep replacing them on the tree.
Traveling back again, I am in my grandparents' living room.
The presents under the Christmas tree flow out into the middle of the floor. Every relative brought armloads of wrapped boxes for the gift exchange.
As I look at the sea of gifts under that tree, I am startled back to reality.
Of all the presents, from the hundreds that I opened throughout the years at my grandparents' house, I remember very few.
My mind racing, I strain to try to remember.
But Christmas past has left me. I am back in Christmas present.
Lesson: Sitting in my chair, holding my children's Christmas lists, the message of my journey becomes clear.
My fondest Christmas memories, the ones that I hold in my heart and draw upon when the world is cold and harsh, have nothing to do with what I spent for Christmas, but who I spent Christmas with.
All the games and toys and clothes hold momentary delight.
The love of family and friends and the joy of spending time together are the true gifts of Christmas.
Still sitting in my chair, I think of Christmases to come.
My visions of the future confirm my current thoughts.
It won't matter what's under the tree. What will matter will be who is sitting around it.
XThroughout December, my column will be dedicated to sharing with you stories of individuals and organizations that have given incredible gifts.
gwhite@vindy.com