A few years ago we had a Christmas with no presents. It was one of the best Christmases we ever had.
It involved a small herd: Diane and I, her two sons, one with a wife, the wife's parents, and best of all, Diane's elderly mother who was spry and sprightly, but in a wheelchair. We all flew to the utterly charming resort, La Quinta, in Palm Springs. We agreed in advance that our joint present would be the trip. I loved that part because it immediately relieved the pressure of buying something useless for somebody who really didn't want it, with everybody pretending to be thrilled.
The desert is a magnificent place when the sunset paints the iron-colored mountains with a rainbow of changing colors. A natural cathedral. One day we all went to Joshua Tree National Forest. There were guys cliff‑climbing, tiny dots barely visible on sheer rock walls. I got nauseous just looking at them. We played golf on a course where the strips of green fairway were surrounded by cactus and sand.
It gave a whole new meaning to the term "sand trap." Late Christmas Eve, I was wheeling Diane's mother Connie back to her room after we had eaten and partied. Doors were open all along the route, with people in Santa hats laughing and drinking. I wheeled the old lady into the doorway of one particularly frisky‑looking party, just to say hi. Everyone looked up. Suddenly, Connie said in a loud voice, "anybody know where there's a steep flight of stairs? My son-in-law here wants to give me a one‑way ride down em!"
The second of stunned silence was followed by raucous laughter. We were invited in and spent another hour drinking and singing carols with a crowd of great folks from LA. Connie’s gone now. But she's with me every Christmas, still inspiring me to have fun and find the best in life all the way to the end.
Christmas Day we had a private room for dinner. We had decided we would exchange the gift of each other. Under each plate was the name of another person. You read the name and then spoke briefly about what you loved about that person. We thought it would be a light and airy way to celebrate our bonds.
It turned out to be much heavier, but in a wonderful way. Kids teared up as they remembered their Dad rescuing them in the middle of the night. Parents were wet‑eyed as they ticked off the virtues and accomplishments of the kids. For those few minutes, the negatives and the criticisms (and who doesn't have them) were all put aside. Deep feelings that are too seldom expressed, were shared with the people who needed to hear them. We focused on the positive. We focused on love. And isn't that what the Christmas season is supposed to be all about?