Twas the Night Before Christmas...

I have loved books for as far back as I can remember. One of my favorite Christmas traditions, growing up, was the reappearance of two beloved books on the table in the sitting room. I still take a few moments each Christmas Eve to read them, lighting the eyes of my proverbial inner child (who is always quite alive and well!). Of course, I always reread the story of the Nativity--that is what Christmas means to me, above all else--but then there are the fanciful, magical books... The first was "Jolly Old Santa Claus" (Maryjane H Tonn, illustrations by George Hinke).

The story itself was captivating, told like the reader is being given a special "insider's" tour of the North Pole--what child doesn't like a peek into Santa's workshop?!--but the illustrations were the true treasure. This book is set up in a way that was a bit unique: the story is told on pale blue pages, with words and a few simple sketches, but then you turn the page to find full-color pages, so packed with detail, each demands you stop to really observe, almost as if you are actually inside them. Somehow, they always seemed to be exactly how I imagined it all really looked. To this day, I still stop to stare at each, before I continue with the story.




The other book is "Santa's Christmas Journey" (Roger Brooke, illustrations by Elizabeth J Miles) and it is told in rhyme.

Something about the cadence of this story has always appealed to me:

This is the story of how once a year
I fly round the world with eight trusty reindeer.
And bring to each child in each house in each land
A wrapped Christmas present, delivered by hand.

The story is wonderfully woven, each page decorated with the most wonderful pictures.




This year, my mom insisted I open one of my gifts a few days early. Inside was the newest book to add to my collection, the classic, "The Night Before Christmas," by Clement C Moore.

Further back than my memory can draw up, this book was my favorite bedtime story--so much so that I asked for it year round, and could recite along with it, knowing exactly when to turn the page. The best part, though, is that she chose one of the recordable books that Hallmark puts out (you know you've seen the commercials more than once), and so tied with this book and its personal memories, I have my mother reading the story, just as she did when I was very small, something that will become even more of a treasure should I ever have my own small child with whom to share these traditions.