Hello, Neighbor
The Advance ran a piece titled “Women’s Forum” thirty years ago. We also released the Men’s Forum separately.
Readers who liked to write were asked to contribute brief essays on any topic that caught their attention.
The time was different. Given how sensitive people are to labels these days, perhaps forums for men and women wouldn’t work.
However, we are on Staten Island. This leads to far more problems. The forums would undoubtedly get political in our fervent, conservative borough.
I was reminded of all of this by an email I got from Matthew Sussex.
Matthew wrote: I’m attempting to figure out how to get articles authored by Rosemarie Sussex/Rosemarie Viola.
His mother is Rosemarie.
Between the late 1960s and the 1990s, the articles were written. In order to frame them as a Christmas present, I would like to obtain copies.
It is beyond the capabilities of our team to accommodate this. Such requests are fulfilled by a business named PARS –https://www.parsintl.com/publications/staten-island-advance/staten-island-advance-reprints-and-e-prints-form/–.
However, I dug into our archives and discovered Rosemarie’s essays because it was Christmas, Matthew wanted to surprise his mother, and I had good recollections of the Men’s and Women’s Forum articles we had published over the years.
The moment was ideal. I came upon a 1994 book that was a tribute to the Christmases she spent as a child.
I thought that reprinting it thirty years later would be a fun surprise for Rosemarie and Matthew.
Rosemarie, do you recall this one?
Warm recollections of previous Christmases
Written by Rosemarie Sussex
There are obvious indications that Christmas is rapidly approaching. We look through the pages of items we want to gift and receive. In an attempt to make this Christmas the greatest one yet, we’re spending a little more and purchasing a little more.
But when the first rush is gone and the majority of the items we purchased and got will either be sent back or relegated to the back of a drawer, never to be seen again, we may focus on the tree, which is the focal point of Christmas.
According to legend, on a Christmas Eve centuries ago, St. Boniface of Germany down the pagan’s sacred oak tree and presented them with a young fir as a representation of Christianity. German homes then adopted the tradition, decorating them with apples, candy, and paper roses. Every ethnic Christian group in America followed the custom that the German immigrants brought with them when they came.
Without a doubt, the centerpiece of our holiday custom is the Christmas tree. We look around for the ideal tree to serve as the focal point of our festivities.
Just for the thrill of cutting down the ideal fir, some brave individuals brave lengthy miles of driving and then labor through snow-covered forests, freezing to the bone. Others spend hours choosing the type of tree they want to install in that particular spot in their homes while shopping at pricey nurseries. Scotch Pine, Douglas Fir, or Balsam?
Others simply take it out of a cardboard box. Always prepared, always flawless, year after year. There are trees that are white, pink, or green. Regardless of our own taste, Christmas would not be the same without a tall, stately tree in its customary spot of respect. Some are even silver.
We begin the important task of tree trimming after the tree has been carefully placed in its stand and the lights have been hung. Our collection of cherished decorations is typically housed in an old cardboard box, and when the box is opened, memories of previous Christmases pour out.
We are reminded of our recollections of previous Christmases, our dreams for the future, and our expectations for the present, much like in Dickens’ Christmas Carol.
The ornaments are removed from their protective wrappings one by one and strung on sturdy branches. The recollections of those past years have returned, almost miraculously, and are vivid and new. Previously meaningless ornaments now hold a specific significance. A crocheted angel, crafted by someone who is no longer with us, becomes a priceless item.
The memorial for next year and all subsequent years will include the new ornaments that were purchased to help fill the trees this year. It would appear that a more fitting title than “Christmas Tree” could be applied to a significant aspect of the holiday custom that endures year after year, long after the gifts we were given have been forgotten.
Perhaps I should call the tree “Memory Tree” in private as we adorn its branches with memories of our time spent as a family.
And I’ll pray that the little glass bell that has been on our tree for longer than we can remember actually has the ability to give angels wings when I put it there and it tinkles when I reach up for the best limb.
Matthew claims Rosemarie still resides at Port Richmond, where she was in 1994. Perhaps we’ll reminisce about Christmas in Midland Beach next week.
Brian
By the way, now is the perfect moment to wish our friends the happiest Christmas ever. Or, for those neighbors who don’t celebrate, the happiest season of the year, when the air is warm despite the cold. This year, Madison, Wisconsin, is an exception. In order to safeguard her pupils in a classroom, a second-grade teacher there called 911 and begged for assistance. After bringing a gun to school, a young girl killed a classmate and a teacher while injuring six more. When will this end? According to a Madison police chief, schools are meant to be safe places, thus he opposed the idea of installing metal detectors there. They are meant to be secure. but aren’t. Invest as much money as you can on mental health initiatives. If someone who is tormented and determined to kill wants to kill, they will. We must protect ourselves from it. Tragic events happen so frequently that we grieve and then forget. Twelve people died and almost twenty were injured at Columbine High School. Sandy Hook: 2 injured, 26 dead. A startling 267 pupils were shot in 85 school-related incidents this year alone. Were you aware of that? The issue is that I didn’t. America doesn’t care about it.
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