THE PERFECT GIFT Growing up in a remote community in Newfoundland has furnished my soul with many memories, but none so majestic as the joys of Christmas. When I think back on those memorable days as a child it warms my heart. Mountains of snow surrounded the community and Icycles clung with pride to the roof tops. Frosty the snow man occupied every yard while Jack frost adorned each window. Both children and adults were buzzing with the excitement of Christmas. I grew up in a family of seven, my mother and my five siblings. My father died tragically at the age of 41,which left my mother with six children under the age of nine. It was a great tragedy indeed but miraculously my mother somehow made it all work. Christmas eve was as exciting as Christmas day, well almost. This was the day the tree went up and everything came to life. Paper was cut out, glued into links and used for garland, then pop corn carefully strung and wrapped around each limb. The star, made of cardboard, was wrapped with tinfoil and placed at the top. The aroma of pine, to this day, bestows such a peacefulness within my soul. After the tree was decorated it was off to bed. This was one night we never complained about bedtime. Rocks were heated on the wood stove all day, wrapped in towels and placed in the middle of each bed. By the time we crawled in the flannel sheets were toasty warm. They were then moved to the bottom to warm our feet. It's amazing how a simple thing like a rock gave one so much pleasure. I loved my rock. We'd giggle and play eye spy until we drifted off to sleep. Ah, Christmas morning, how close to heaven can a child be? "Ok, time to get up," our mother would shout. Down over the stairs all six of us would race.Underneath the tree, there were presents for everyone and six socks hung from the mantle. It was a magical day, one that will remain with me forever. Dolls, games, coloring books, toy guns and sleighs. When I think about those days now I wonder how my mother managed to make it all so perfect. Every little girls dream, a beautiful doll in a beautiful box. I'd carry that doll to bed with me and admire the perfection of her face. I named her Cindy. You could say that doll became my best friend. Even the box she came in was somewhat of a novelty to me. Our stockings were filled with coloring books,crayons and fruit. Ida Vaughn who lived across the brook from us had knitted six pairs of mittens and baked a christmas fruit cake topped with the most delicious icing. What a wonderful gesture on her part ,however, I couldn't comprehend why my mittens only had 1 thumb and 1 finger. I thought maybe she ran out of time or wool. Oh yes, and then their were the mummers.Who could forget such a tradition. I truly couldn't embrace the logic behind it. Groups of people coming to your house wearing long underwear and homemade quilts draped over their heads. They'd sing songs, dance around the kitchen and before you knew it they were gone. From a seven year olds prespective it was a very strange phenomenon until many years later I became a proud mummer myself. Of all the amazements of Christmas the one that will remain with me forever is not the gifts that were placed under the Christmas tree but the gift that was so carefully wrapped and placed with my heart. This is a special gift from my mother that only I can unwrap. I will always be thankful to her for this.   Submitted By: donna malarsky