Today’s special episode features an original story called The Christmas Ghost. This story was inspired by a song I wrote a few years ago, also called the Christmas Ghost, which you will hear at the very end of this episode. The story, and the song, are dedicated to those who have an empty seat at the holiday table, those who have lost a loved one, and who, every holiday season, feel that pang of sadness and nostalgia, no matter how many years have gone by. But I promise, this story does have a bright side...

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FULL TRANSCRIPT:

Things with Wings productions presents – A Special episode of The Skylark Bell. I’m your host, Melissa Oliveri.

Before I dive into today’s episode, I’d like to explain how it came about. Something wild and wonderful happened earlier this week – The Skylark Bell found a whole new, and rather large, audience, and more than tripled its total of two-years’ worth of downloads in just 24 hours. This caused me to rearrange my calendar a little bit, and to write a new story to share with you this week. The episode celebrating the one-year anniversary of the Songs from the Skylark Bell soundtrack will now air next week instead.

Now, for today’s special episode I will share an original story called The Christmas Ghost. This story was inspired by a song I wrote a few years ago, also called the Christmas Ghost, which you will hear at the very end of this episode. The story, and the song, are dedicated to those who have an empty seat at the holiday table, those who have lost a loved one, and who, every holiday season, feel that pang of sadness and nostalgia, no matter how many years have gone by. But I promise, this story does have a bright side...

So, grab a blanket and a warm drink, and let’s get started.

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I have a Christmas Ghost. 

Each year, the moment I haul the bins of holiday decorations into the living room, it begins to form. I can usually feel it hovering in the corner of the room, like a mass of swirling clouds coming together to form a storm.

I put a Holiday record on the turntable and joyfully dance around the room as I set up the tree, then step back to make sure it’s straight before adding the lights. I hang the pine garland on the railing of our front steps, taking the time to adjust the crimson bows just so, then string the lights up in the window. I look around to admire my handiwork, then take a break to snack on fresh-baked sugar cookies and a mug of warm spiced cider. Outside I hear children laugh and shout as they launch snowballs through the air, their colourful scarves and mittens clashing with the white of the snow. I hold the steaming mug of cider between my palms as I watch them, the opposing teams have now come together to build a snow fort. I take the last sip of my drink then get back to work. I loop a garland across the doorway to the living room, mesmerized by the reflection of the rainbow lights from the tree caught in its silvery tinsel, then I set the small figurines in and around the vintage nativity set that once belonged to my mother, more out of tradition than anything else. Lastly, I pin up a vintage-style red velvet banner with Noël printed on it in gold letters.

Distracted by the merriment, I forget about the ghost, until the record player puts forth that one song; the one that shatters my heart into pieces, the one that puts a lump in my throat, the one that coaxes the tears from my eyes, the one that sings about being together for the holidays – if the fates allow. The one that reminds me that the fates had other plans...

This is the point, once sadness and nostalgia take hold, when the ghost moves from the corner of the room like a low laying fog and wraps around me like a blanket. I let the tears flow, the heart break, and the grief take hold, only for  length of a song. I life the lid of the last box to reveal my collection of ornaments, each one a delicate treasure glittering with significance. I relish them all, the vintage and antique ones that belonged to parents and grandparents, the clumsy ones hand-made by children. the ones purchased the first Christmas after leaving home to decorate a shoebox-sized apartment, others that mark life moments like the arrival of a new love, a new pet, or a baby, and the ones collected while on vacation or work trips... all of them coming together to tell the story of my life.

As I hang the ornaments on the tree, the Christmas Ghost seeps into my mind. It brings up thoughts of Christmases past, when the magic of childhood gave the holiday a dream-like quality, like a classic film with a misty glow around the edges of the screen. The Christmas Ghost conjures up faces I haven’t seen or thought about in years. It brings back memories of gifts long since loved and lost, and the echoes of songs playing on a scratchy record player as we huddled under heaps of hand-knit blankets. The ghost then brings back the sights, sounds, and smells of the holiday kitchen. Meat pies, mashed potatoes and gravy, finger sandwiches, chocolate pudding pie with whipped cream and cherries on top, every flavour of soda under the rainbow, and boxes of cream-filled chocolates and peppermint patties – things only found at our grandparents’ house, things we ate until our little tummies bulged and we curled up for a nap to let the clock run out until it was time to open our gifts.

Finally, the last ornament is hung, the record on the turntable has reached its end, the reel of a lifetime of Christmas memories has played out, and the Christmas Ghost withdraws. Alone with my thoughts, I look out the window at the falling snow. Unusually large, delicate snowflakes float from the sky like feathers on a summer breeze. The world outside looks so very still in comparison, the children having been called in for supper, leaving their half-built fort and a handful of snow angels behind.

I stand at the window, watching as the snow gradually covers the ground, staring at the path leading to the house, wishing for footprints to appear, wishing for the doorbell to ring... but the world remains still and silent under the darkening sky.

It’s easy to look back and think of how I would have done things differently, all those years ago, had I known it would be our last Christmas - but that’s the thing, isn’t it? We never know it’s the last one until it’s too late. No matter how much wishing I have done in the Christmases since, those footprints have never come to mar the freshly fallen snow, and the doorbell has never rung.

I put my empty plate and mug into the sink, then return to the comfort of my rocking chair. The living room is lit only by the multicoloured twinkle of the Christmas tree, and I can see snowflakes still falling under the glow of the streetlight outside the window. The room is silent but for the faint ticking of a clock upstairs and the creaking of the rocking chair against the ancient wood floor. 

A knock on the door startles me. A neighbour with a gift, a homemade treat delivered with a smile and warm wishes as the cold air seeps through the open door. We exchange pleasantries and they go on their merry way. Now there are footprints in the snow leading up to the house. Perhaps wishes do come true. 

I return to my rocking chair, the carefully wrapped package on my lap. “Would you like a piece?” I ask the empty room. The voice of the Christmas Ghost echoes in my mind, telling me to enjoy the sweet gift under the twinkling lights. It tells me to flip over the record, dance to the music, grab a blanket and watch a favourite childhood film, light a candle in the dark, embrace the joy and the sadness, the memories and the present moment. I ponder a moment, then get up and flip the record, I dance over to the couch and grab a blanket, then pop a sweet treat in mouth as put on a movie. Once the film has ended, I light a candle in the dark room, and watch it go from somber to joyful. I sit quietly and reminisce, and cry because it ended, but smile because it happened.

The lesson is a good one, and I take note, because someday, perhaps, I will be someone’s Christmas Ghost.

Thank you so much for listening.  Join me next week as we celebrate the one-year anniversary of Songs from The Skylark Bell, the official soundtrack to the podcast. This episode will feature track-by-track commentary with the inspiration and insight behind each song. An extended version of the episode will also be available exclusively to Patreon subscribers. Links to Patreon and my social media accounts are available in the show notes.

Be sure to listen through to the end of this episode for an original song by me, under my stage name Cannelle, called The Christmas Ghost. This song is available exclusively here on The Skylark Bell podcast and on Patreon.

As we head into the holiday season, I want to wish all of you peace and joy. I know the holidays can be difficult for many, each for their own different reasons. Hopefully your Christmas Ghost will be there to bring you memories of holidays gone by, and an appreciation for the present moment.

Once again, thank you for listening, I’m Melissa Oliveri and this is The Skylark Bell podcast.

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