20 + C + M + B + 04

I have a few pleasant memories of the Christmas season from my childhood.

As a little boy, we would go to my maternal grandparent's farm, just south of Fayetteville, in Brown County, Ohio. There must have been fifteen or twenty of us at the time, making all sorts of havoc. One of my aunts (one of the bossier ones, to be sure) would spend most of the time corraling us and lining us up for one blasted thing or another. On the other hand, my cousin Donnie, four years older than me, was left alone since he was obviously too old for such relegating. I used to look forward to the day that such freedom would be granted to me. But when the four years came... yep, you guessed it.

Every year there was a birthday cake for Jesus. This venerable tradition of the Rosselot clan was composed of four layers of cake, colored or flavored to represent the four races of mankind. It was covered in white frosting. Atop the cake was a holly wreath made of those gummy sugar-coated spearmint leaves and little red hot candies. In the middle, laying in a nest of browned coconut "straw," was a little doll to represent Baby Jesus. At his head was a single candle, and around him were the words "Happy Birthday Jesus." We'd sing Happy Birthday to our Lord (duh!), and the youngest would blow out the candle and keep the little doll.

There were other constants on this grand occasion. Grandpa always got a new white dress shirt, the rest of us always got a bonus present to top off our treasures gained at home, and my cousin Donnie was always left alone.

Eventually the Rosselot clan got big enough, that the celebration had to be moved to the Sunday after Christmas. In time, it was moved to Uncle Bernard's farm just up the road. After Grandma and Grandpa got too old to manage the farm, it was sold to (who else?) my cousin Donnie, and the whole shindig was moved to the city, to Aunt Margie's place, where Grandma and Grandpa were cared for, and where they lived until they died.

There were other memories. Come the Sunday before Christmas, Santa Claus would make an early appearance through the town streets, courtesy of the fire department, giving bags of fruits, nuts, and candy to each of the chidren. Then on Twelfth Night, the town would have a "yule log burning," consisting of all the leftover Christmas trees that could be assembled in one place. The latter custom, for a town founded by and dominated to the present day by Methodists, was particularly remarkable in its "Catholic" character.

To this day, I wonder if they still celebrate Twelfth Night the way they used to. I doubt that most of the Catholics do, now that Epiphany has been moved to the nearest Sunday.

Of course, as far as I am concerned, The Epiphany is always on January 6 -- as it always is in Rome. Over the door of my home, I write in chalk the inscription that appears as the title to this entry.

"Christus Masionem Benedicat." (May Christ this dwelling bless.)