It’s the same thing every year.

Christmas Eve arrives and I get a little melancholy and homesick.

It all has to do with Christmas Tradition, the smell of the tree, the cookies I used to bake with my grandmother (Gutzle, if any Swabians happen to read this.), Butter-S’s, Glühwein!
Sorry, I digress. We didn’t really have Glühwein (Mulled Wine) on Christmas Eve. We had that during the run up to Christmas, because it was… well… cold.

We never used to bring the tree inside before Christmas Eve.
It was kind of a ritual, and the day went something like this:

Morning — Noon

We’d get the tree up three flights of stairs, into the living room. Eventually. When we worked out how to get a tree that was too wide, too tall and otherwise unwieldy, up those winding stairs and through that door, without leaving half of in on the stairs or in the banisters… One of us was always on a mission to unsnag snagged branches and hide the broken bits from mom.
There it would be erected and left to settle for an hour or so, while my dad, my brother and I climbed into the attic to go get the Christmas decorations down.
Then came the ritual "Oh no! You BROKE it!" of the dropping of any baubles that were breakable.
We would pull tinsel apart and lay it out, dig out the candle holders, the stars, the bows…
Then my mom would come in and we’d decorate the tree, taking extra care to put the candles where they wouldn’t burn anything. (Yes, REAL candles.)
Once we were all happy with our tree, we’d clear up the debris (there was always debris…) and leave the living room.
Usually by around noon.
Door shuts.
No one is allowed inside anymore.

Noon — Afternoon

I’d go downstairs to my gran’s and we’d make more cookies. (We started baking cookies on the 1st Advent, and after Christmas Eve you didn’t bake any more.)
Our cookies never lasted long. There were Butter-S’s, Vanillkipferl, Coconut Macaroons, Ausstecherle, Haslenut Macaroons… you name it, I’ve probably made it before.
Tons and tons of them. (And I’m still making them…)
I might dig out the recipes and post them some time, because they are worth preserving and making, they were that good. And there is nothing like baking with gran, or mom.
By 3pm we’d start asking if the "Christkind" had been yet. (In Germany, presents are not brought by Santa, but by the Christ Child.)
By 4pm we’d "help" my mother prepare Christmas Dinner. (I think she would have preferred us not to, but there you go… at this point we were unstoppable.)
By 5pm (it was pitch dark outside by then) we’d be camping in front of the living room door.

Afternoon — Evening

At 5pm, everything was silent outside. You didn’t hear a car move, or anything.
Then the church bells of all the churches in town would start to ring.
When they fell silent again, you would hear "Silent Night" ring out over the town, played by a trumpeter on the church spire.
I swear, I hear that, and I’ll be in tears. They probably don’t do it anymore now, but they used to, when I was a kid.

And that’s when a little bell would ring in the living room.
My mom turned all the lights off. Every single one.
It was a time when I held my breath, waiting… waiting for that door to open.

And then it did.
And all you saw was the lit tree, sparkling tinsel in the dark room, glistening baubles, stars…

Magic.

I tried hard to find anything that could do justice to that view.
Below is pretty close to what we’d see when that door opened.
 

Merry Christmas!

I hope your Christmas is a magical as mine used to be.

Tags: Christmas, Germany, Tradition