I am always amazed when I find myself totally clueless to psychological turmoil going on inside my own being. When I found out the deadline for this column was imminent and the suggested topic was Christmas, I was filled with instant anxiety. "Where did this come from?" I wondered. I absolutely love Christmas. Yet when I sat down to write, I faced my first writer’s block.

A few years back I published my most memorable Christmas in the Virgin Islands. We were on what turned out to be one of the worst charters we had in 14 years. The people were rude, demanding and obnoxious. One of the members was dying of leukemia. His family decided to bring him at the last minute, without even informing us of the addition so I could put in extra stores. He lay in his bunk all week, ignored by his family, suffering from disabling diarrhea from flu. Ed caught his bug, and I was carrying the whole load for a couple of days. On Christmas Day, in the British Virgins, I was extremely homesick. I went ashore to try to find a telephone, but there was no public telephone in Cane Garden Bay. A native couple took me into their home, gave me cake and guava-berry wine, and let me use their telephone to call California. I was able to write about that situation in a totally positive way, yet here I was now, seemingly anxious about thoughts of Christmas.

I went to the attic and found my old journals. Going back through them, looking only at the December dates, was quite an eye opener. I realized our last charter was a Christmas charter I had been on, but had completely forgotten. Lyric had become ill with blisters on her eardrum, and we had returned to St. Thomas. The weather turned into what is commonly called "the Christmas Winds," which means it blows about 40 knots and most people are too scared or too sick to sail. Or both. Satori was a big, heavy boat, so they sailed. They also drug anchor multiple times, a real rarity, and were in a couple of tight situations. By the time that charter was over, Ed decided it was the last.

Obviously, when you have to work on what you consider a family holiday, it takes some of the joy out of it. And growing up in my family, Christmas had been the biggie, the extravaganza! One year, we had 22 Christmas trees in our 4 bedroom house. Every room was decorated, even the bathroom had a cotton ball tree with ornaments. We opened presents Christmas Eve, each person in turn. Everything was put neatly back under the tree to display our "haul." On Christmas Day my grandmother, great aunt, uncle, and his wife and 7 kids came to dinner. Having to sit and eat at a separate "kid" table irked my brothers and me. When I reached high school age, Mom switched to an Open House on Christmas Day. These became dressy, gala affairs with a straining buffet of favorite foods, spiked punch and eggnog. Friends brought guitars…and singing, flirting, laughter, and joy were the order of the day.

So, when I moved to these mountains I wanted to create Christmas for my daughter, Christmas that she would always remember. The first year, however, we had to move out of our fully-furnished rental in Black Mountain as it was a vacation home, and the owners wanted it for their vacation. The second year Ed had to be in St. Thomas for a possible boat sale (another saga) and so Lyric and I drove down to meet him at his parents in Florida. Florida is not my favorite place, and it just isn’t Christmas. I wanted to be in the mountains, with pine trees, holly, roaring fires, North Carolinian decorator’s enthusiasm, and, hopefully snow. The boat did not sell, and we were in even more debt after his trip. On Christmas Day, Lyric burst into tears and refused to open presents because she had so many and Grandpa, Grandma, Mom, and Dad only had a few.

Our first Christmas in North Carolina was a frenzy of establishing traditions: Decorating everything that did not move, baking cookies and making ornaments, cooking all day, driving throughout WNC at night to see the Christmas lights, being in the church pageant and attending special services, adopting angel trees and families at church, school and work, hugging bears on Sundays, gathering food for the needy, contributing to heat for the elderly, tossing coins into the pot for the Salvation Army bell-ringers, enjoying the Ceremony of the Bells at Lake Tomahawk, keeping bird feeders full and putting out corn for deer, praying for peace in a world of strife, watching It’s a Wonderful Life and Miracle on 34th Street and crying in the same places each time, attending parties and eating fabulous food, and loosing all resolve until New Year’s. And, being blessed by the very special gift from above, snow. There were magical flakes floating down in a black sky, and quiet. Christmas lights reflected on fine powder drifts, and my breath steamed the lens as I tried to capture it on film. Christmas here was everything I’d hoped it would be.

When I see the bumper stickers about the reason for the season and putting Christ back into Christmas, I empathize with the belief that we are forgetting to re-connect with the true spirit of the commitment Jesus made to show us the way, to be the light so we may follow in his footsteps. If each one of us could keep that glow of love and joy in our hearts at this time of his birth, there would be no turmoil. Imagine what it would be like if for one day every person on earth chose to be happy, loving, and peaceful. If there were no killing, no hatred, no crime, no discrimination, no judgments, no anger, no fear, no blame, no envy, no jealousy, no irritation—just love! What a wonderful experience that would be.

As I wrote this article, I realized why I was having a hard time. This year, I promised to be somewhere else. I thought I was handling the guilt-trip I was receiving from my mother (who now lives on our property.) But I didn’t realize my own inner-self was angry at me. I never wanted to leave at Christmas, yet I had put others' needs ahead of mine.

When I recognized the problem, it was solved. Because Christmas isn’t a place, it’s what is in your heart. And now I’ll fill my heart with all that Christmas means to me, and take it with me wherever I go.

Gabrielle & Ed Thompson live with their daughter, Lyric, at Eco-Cove, raising trout for sale and tending gardens on 117 acres in Marion, NC. Gabrielle also works in the McDowell Tech library and as a free-lance writer. The family relocated to N.C. from the Virgin Islands, where they spent 14 years hosting sailing tours on Satori, a 75' sailboat they built, with their singing parrot, Barnacle Bill.