Olden Times and Ancient Rhymes

**VivaLasViejas**, ASN, RN

It was the official opening of the holiday season at my assisted-living facility: a twelve-foot tree, fresh from the farm, stood in the corner of the great room as boxes and boxes of decorations were brought downstairs from their hiding place in the activities storage room. The kitchen staff brought out their best dishes and put fancy cookies and delicate sandwiches on them to tempt the residents and family members who streamed through the front door, many of whom were dressed in outfits that no one with an ounce of fashion sense would be caught dead in at any other time of the year; resident assistants rushed about in a sort of organized chaos that only the practiced eye would note as different from the usual routine; while we department heads tried to conduct the necessary business even as we too were caught up in the spirit of the day.

At two o'clock sharp, the residents who could not ambulate independently were assembled in front of the tree as those who were able opened the boxes of red-and-gold ornaments and began to place them on the lush, dark-green branches.

A local entertainer strummed his guitar and sang Christmas carols---actual Christmas carols!---in a faulty tenor which meandered in and out of the melody, undoubtedly without the permission of its owner. Adult children chatted with their elderly parents in between songs, with the occasional shout into a deaf ear punctuating the pine-scented air:

"I SAID, DO YOU REMEMBER THAT SONG?"

A staffer, answering the front-desk phone as quietly as possible, nonetheless earned a glare and a sharp rebuke from a nearby family member who reminded her that "these people are trying to enjoy this, you know".

But what made this holiday gathering extra special for me was seeing the weathered faces of residents glow into beauty as they began to sing along........men and women who couldn't tell you what they'd eaten for lunch just two hours before, lifting their voices in the old carols whose words still resounded in their memories.

I watched our lovely Leona, who no longer recognizes her own daughter, belting out every single verse of "Hark, the Herald Angels Sing" as if she were once again the church-choir soprano of her Chicago youth. I saw the tears on the face of little Anna, whose husband died this past summer, as she doubtless reminisced about the sixty-four Christmases they celebrated together. I listened as tone-deaf Gerald, who used to be a Methodist minister, followed along in his lusty basso voice the strains of the ancient "Adeste Fideles".

And as I observed the peace that fell over the gathering while the closing verse of "Silent Night" was sung, I was reminded of my own Christmases past and the people, many of whom are now long gone, who made them some of my most precious memories. I thought about my maternal grandmother, whom I suspected of being Santa Claus until I was eight and then found out I'd been right all along, and how she bought presents all year and then loaded up her old Rambler on Christmas Eve with literally dozens of brightly wrapped packages.

I recalled my parents, who made life hard for me much of the time, but who showered me with love and made me feel special at Christmastime. I also found myself longing---almost---for the Christmases when my kids were little; though we were poor, we somehow never lacked for anything during the holidays, and best of all, they learned what generosity of spirit and a little faith could do at this magical, mystical time of the year.

Maybe I'm just getting old too, but each Christmas means something a little different than the last......and my understanding of what it's all about grows deeper with the passing years. Olden times and ancient rhymes, and memories to share........thanks to my residents, these things will forever play a carol of love, not only at Christmastime but all through the year.

Olden Times and Ancient Rhymes

About VivaLasViejas, ASN, RN

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