First of all, I want to wish all the followers of this column a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. I really appreciate it whenever someone says in casual conversation that they enjoy reading what I have written in this column. I consider being able to express myself this way both a responsibility and a privilege. This seems like a good time to say thank you.

Christmas is a wonderful time of year, isn’t it? We love seeing the joy on the faces of children when they see what Santa has brought. Even Sneaky Santa games have their place, but I doubt it is what the Three Wise Men had in mind when they brought gifts to the Infant Jesus. Then there is the joy of giving a special gift to a loved one — a gift for which you made sacrifices and into which you put extra thought.

It isn’t the cost of something that makes it memorable. (There’s that word “memory” again. You’ll see where I’m going with this theme in a moment…) I feel at a loss for words to express my emotions surrounding one gift in particular.

Those of you who are regular readers here or friends from my childhood know that in my family my parents and two of my siblings are gone, leaving my sister, Mary Dean, and me with an emptiness that Christmas music only makes more emotional. But we put on a cheerful face, welcome family and friends with warm embraces and wide smiles and celebrate the holidays. In the back of one’s mind, memories pop up of decorating the aluminum Christmas tree in Mother’s room and another live one in the living room, dressing up in taffeta dresses for Midnight Mass, and many, many more.

The gift filled with emotions — varying from raucous laughter to silent tears — was a wrapped in a palm-sized box tied with a simple bow. It was handed to me by my nephew, Kris Deare, and his lovely wife, Michelle. The big screen television was playing silently in the background. About two dozen other family members, all younger than I, were sitting comfortably all around their cozy family room in my hometown of Jeanerette.

For nearly 40 years Kris and Michelle had stored dozens of 8-millimeter film canisters of family movies their father had taken. Without a projector, and with some trepidation that the narrow cellulose (?) strips might break into shreds, the memories had been stored — unseen — for decades. Now, using technology, they had finally trusted a digital-transfer company to put the movies onto a thumb drive, and made copies for the family.

What was showing on the big screen was like a miracle! We were seeing in living color my late brother, Earl Jr., his late wife, Ticker, and their children as infants! There were scans across the dinner table of my late father and mother, as well as Ticker’s close family members. My niece and nephews were infants and toddlers, then seconds later, they are shown walking down the aisle. Each fleeting image may have only lasted a second but to me it was as warm as a hug from every one.

The only sounds heard were shouts of names and places from us older folks who remembered and recognized those on screen. It was hilarious and at the same time moving, emotionally, something that struck me later when I had time to process what is included in that small electronic “Magic Stick”.

It was intensely moving to be sitting near three of Earl’s children — Kris, Mike, and Julie — and hear them laugh and say, “Oh, look at Mama smoking!” “How skinny she was!” And of their grandmother, “Cecile had dark hair! And see Aunt Ann?” Everyone was sorry their brother, Rick, had been unable to attend this “World Premiere” because he was out of state.

There were a lot of unidentified faces on the screen I could help fill in for them of family friends I remembered. I’m happy to have been able to contribute in a small way by adding what little I could to the fun.

Now that I am at home and Christmas is over, I will deliberately, slowly, and quietly, watch my copy of this precious gift — six hours to be spent “in the company of…” my family members. I’ll laugh and cry, but I will be warmed by their presence as I haven’t been in a long, long time.

And I’ll smile.

JULAINE DEARE SCHEXNAYDER is retired after a varied career in teaching and public relations. Her email address is julaines14@gmail.com.