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The rituals of Christmas made i profound impression on Mrs. Way land when she was a child. She viv idly recalls the many Christmas Eves spent at her grandparents house in Meadville, Pennsylvania, near Lake Erie. She remembers trying hard to stay up late on Christmas, past the time her grandmother would return from midnight mass.
Meadville was lit with gas lights at the time and she could see these from her bedroom. And then, at some point, she would hear the sleigh bells. They were Santa’s bells, of course, and all the children in the town could hear them if they stayed up late enough. Apparently, a local citizen contributed to the Christmas spirit by harnessing his horses to an old sled and riding up and down the streets of the town. The sound of the bells was magic to the children, year after year.
The magic lives on in Mrs. Wayland’s Christmas display, which also makes its appearance year after year. The effect, like the Meadville of her childhood, is very snowy. “I never knew Meadville without snow at Chrismas,” Mrs. Wayland recalls.
There are the four white sheets, spread end to end, packages upon packages of angel’s hair draped over roofs and around the several mirrors that look like icy ponds, and a lot of artificial snow all over the place. The sheets are bordered with garlands of pine and holly, interspersed with large, snowy pinecones. There is even a miniature styrofoam mountain or two.
But the objects and little colored lights that are spread throughout the landscape are, of course, what catches the eye and heart. It is the sincerity and the care that makes this rather eclectic assortment so appealing.
This year, it took Mrs. Wayland two full days (“messing around with it”) to set it up. The first day, she went to bed at 3:00 a.m. She re
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