Close to midnight on Christmas Eve people dusted off their best winter clothing; family walked to church slowly, dressed to the nines; kids behaved, holding hands with their belonging adults; the older men lifted their hats when passing a woman; women nodded back stiffly and gracefully. The crowd gathered in front of the neighborhood church. The breath of their chatter rose in small vapor-clouds into winter air. Watched from the side it looked like a comic book scene with empty speech-bubbles raising from their lips. Slowly, they funneled through the narrow door into the candlelit belly of the church rich with the aroma of incense. On their coats people brought their own scents of spiced cooked wine, oven-baked ham and cookies.
Throughout the service they all stood with their heads bowed and sang the hymns together. At the end they shared love with their neighbors by shaking their hands and women faking the kiss on each other's cheek by kissing the air. Young boys would try to strategically position themselves next to the girls and, though the kiss was traditionally shared by two women, they'd plant one on the girl's cheek, causing some healthy blushing. On occasion, although rarely, a girl would return the kiss, and both would move away with matching redness spread over their faces and ears.
After the service people returned to their homes in groups of a few families together, walking slower and talking louder. It was a festive night, once upon a time in the land and the time of my youth.
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