Because sometimes we find hope in the little things…
Here’s the story of a nostalgic little village that offers hope, happiness, and a slice of apple pie to all those who visit.
A serendipitous dinner invitation this evening has brought us to a tiny town you may not find on any map. A place called RIOSVILLE.
Two weeks ago, my cousin was struck by car. For several days, she lay in a coma, broken and silent. Unable to visit the hospital due to distance, I do my best to encourage my aunt, her mother, over the phone. I give her advice, help her decipher medical terminology and legal jargon, send her inspirational text messages, and even make jokes that sometimes fall flat as she struggles to hang on to any semblance of normalcy while sitting at her daughter’s bedside…waiting.
A few days ago, my aunt calls to report that a series of 12-hour surgeries were successful and doctors managed to stop the internal bleeding. That’s great! I said. After several moments of silence, my aunt says something unexpected.
“I took down the Christmas tree.”
I was puzzled. Was she really talking about the Christmas tree? I played along…You took it down?
“Yes. This year, there is no Christmas.”
I stopped short of making the joke that the calendar box clearly marked “Christmas Day” would beg to differ. But, realizing that she is perhaps having a moment, all I could do was say…That’s okay.
I hung up the phone and wondered…is it really okay?
I mean…she must have had one heck of an internal dialogue while taking down the tree. All of it which I’m sure ended with the scary thought that she might lose her daughter.
During the holidays, the world is rampant with nostalgia and it douses us with images and sounds of every good old day that ever existed.
But there are some people who don’t relish in the sight of homes swathed in colorful lights.
Those who don’t stare out of their windows on wintry nights wishing for the magic that falls upon us in the form of snowflakes.
Those who don’t rush to their television sets for a whopping dose of the Hallmark Channel. People who don’t impulsively hum about reindeer, bells, and snowmen throughout the day. Those who don’t adore sappy commercials with cute puppies wrapped in bows or the idea that carolers may show up at their doorstep any minute to regale you with a candlelight rendition of Silent Night.
“I took down the Christmas tree…”
The words haunted me.
Not because she was rejecting Christmas. I know full well that some don’t celebrate Christmas for religious or other reasons. This isn’t about Christmas and it isn’t the idea of the actual tree coming down that disturbs me. For all I care, she could have hung a dirty old sock and called it a Christmas stocking. Instead, it was her conscious decision to avoid what the tree represented.
Nostalgia isn’t always what it’s defined to be. It’s not just a longing for the past or a better time in your life. Nostalgia sometimes represents how things once were and the possibility that, if we can reach those memories, if we can get back to that place, then we can access anything that we need to get through the present – wisdom, strength, and most importantly, hope.
In the movie Shawshank Redemption, we learn this about hope, from infamous dreamer, Andy Dufresne, who found himself in a difficult situation: “Remember Red, hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things, and no good thing ever dies.”
Today, my aunt reports that my cousin was able to sit up in bed and all I want to say to her is: Does that mean you’re going to put the tree back up?
I want to say that, not in a mean-spirited way, not in an I-want-to-grab-you-by-the-shoulders-and-shake-you kind of way, but simply because, until tonight, none of it made any sense to me.
I knew that if I stayed home, I’d continue to vent about how inconceivable it was that someone would go through all the trouble of putting up a Christmas tree only to take it down when things don’t feel very ‘Christmassy.” And so because I can no longer contain my thoughts in my head, I decide that a trip to RIOSVILLE might be just what we need.
RIOSVILLE is a place where the snow lands ever so softly on the rooftops of buildings and homes, with tiny patches resting on the windowsills.
Where each window glimmers with every shade of yellow from amber to gold from lemon to mustard. Where angelic cherubs dance and frolic in a fountain in the village square.
It is a place where fisherman and seafarers, policeman and fireman, school teachers and students, bankers and doctors, lawyers and businessman, artists and chocolatiers work together for one greater good.
Where mothers bake treats for their children and children play outside with their pets all afternoon.
Where bedtime stories are read, families eat dinner together, and neighbors gather at each other’s homes.
A place where church bells ring and during the holidays Evergreens and Pine trees line the streets and wreaths hang on the doors. A place where nightfall does not mean goodbye.
A place that goes by any other name, but on this occasion is called RIOSVILLE, after it’s founding family – The Rios family.
Founder & Author Luz C. Rios is in the process of writing a book about RIOSVILLE.
We arrive and quickly find out that RIOSVILLE is nothing more than a miniature Christmas village collection curated by a family in Levittown, Pennsylvania where, oddly enough, art imitates life.
In the 1950’s, real estate developer William Levitt, designed and mass produced thousands of look-alike homes in a plot of land that he purchased in one fell swoop. Each suburban icon carefully arranged along winding roads and planted on a cement slab complete with identical backyard and all. It reminds us a bit of the neighborhood in the film Edward Scissorhands. An idyllic little town, similar to the 3-tier Christmas village we were wondrously admiring. This particular collection is not antique, but nothing evokes more feelings of nostalgia and memories of a simpler time, than that of a perfectly poised Christmas village.
Its owner, Eriberto Rios, concurs, “These are not antiques or anything, but every time I unbox one it brings back a lot of memories. Memories about when we bought each piece, what we were doing, where we were, how our family was at the time, and things that were going on in our lives then. It’s very nostalgic. We love traditions and memories. This village is just an extension of who I am, who we are as a family, and my life’s work.” He gleefully points to small ceramic house decked out in Philadelphia Eagles football team decor.
A New York fan myself, I dismiss his jab and focus instead on a large structure that overwhelms the right side of the village. It is no strange thing that, “Nuni,” as Eriberto is affectionately called by his family and friends, also has a small replica of the popular American home improvement store, The Home Depot, on the lot.
Having worked in business management for over 15 years, as a General Manager at the retail bookseller, Barnes & Noble, Nuni wanted the opportunity to work in a field that allowed him more time to spend with his family. He also wanted to try his hand at something he always has a passion for…literally.
In 2005, he founded his construction and remodeling company, Home Remedies Remodeling. “I was always good with my hands. After I started my company, my parents confessed that they knew one day I would do something like this because I was always building with blocks, cars, models, and bicycles. Even at the age of 12, I was already thinking about fixing things and bringing things back to life. And now, many years later, with my company, I do the exact same thing, except I install windows and doors. I remodel kitchens and bathrooms. I build houses.”
As he speaks, he prods and points at the tiny townspeople that populate the small village. He curiously poses a father and daughter on a pier and appears to lose himself for a moment. He speaks softly reflecting a hint of vulnerability. “You know, ever since I started collecting these, we’ve only bought one piece a year. Each piece represents something special that happened for us that year. The father & daughter: the first time I became a parent. The Home Depot: when I started my business. The schoolhouse: that was for my wife, the teacher. We even have a few buildings from the set of It’s a Wonderful Life‘s Bedford Falls – that’s my wife’s favorite movie. Next year, I want to add a train as a sign that we plan on going places. Who knows, maybe I will even build it myself!”
He marvels and explains how each small building is evidence of a time when architecture was king and construction was more of an art form. “People took their time to build houses like this. They don’t make them like this anymore. It’s nothing like Levittown, that’s for sure. When they built this town and even today, they build houses for speed. It’s all about how fast you could put one together, because people want it that way. But, I like taking my time and, seeing these, it inspires me to be more creative with my work. For me, it’s exciting to think about all the different ways that I can put a room together. It’s funny…working on a house is very much like putting together this village. I get the same satisfaction from both.”
Nuni builds certain pieces of the village himself, such as this fishing pier.
After dinner, we sit in the living room, across from the village, and prepare for what Nuni calls his “favorite part.” He sets the tone by lowering the lights and handing us a small plate of warm apple pie a la’ mode. He flicks a switch which darkens the room and amplifies the glow emanating from the village. Suddenly a water fountain comes to life and soft music begins to play in some corner of the room.
Sitting here, in this perfect moment, I can’t help but wish I could share just a little bit with my aunt and cousin. I must have been lost in thought when I wondered aloud…Is there ever a time, perhaps during a difficult year, when you’d decide not to put up the village?
Nuni looked at us much in the same way that I had looked at my aunt when she uttered “I took down the Christmas tree…”
He took a final bite of his pie, cleaned off his plate, and stood beside his creation. “Look at their faces. They’re all smiling. When I put it up, my wife and children smile in the same way. Yes, there have been times when life has been hard, unbearable even, but nowadays it seems like every year is like that…it can be because of a difficult project or task at work, a family loss, or financial struggles. These things will weigh you down and put a burden on you and, in those moments it feels silly to be playing and fussing with these toy houses but I know the joy that this brings to my family, so I do it…every year. That is what this village is about. It represents joy and hope…a simpler time.”
We thank our dinner hosts for a wonderful evening, one in which we had the opportunity to step back in time, to rejoice in someone else’s creative ventures, and to learn that there are signs of life – even in the little things.
As we leave RIOSVILLE, my cellphone suddenly vibrates and I read a text from my aunt: “Doctors are going to try taking her off the ventilator. Let her breath on her own. They think she’s ready. Doing much better. I’m hopeful.” While still fantasizing about the fluffy snow on the miniature rooftops, the sidewalks of the quaint and dreamy little village, the smell of warm apple pie wafting out onto the street, and with a renewed hope that there are still some, like Nuni, that cling to nostalgia wherever it may be found – I text back: Your Christmas miracle.
Her response:
Whether it’s during the holiday season or any other time of the year, nostalgia is there to remind you of those things that once brought a smile to your face; things that bring you comfort, warmth, and hope. Embrace it and put up that tree, village, or whatever it is that lets the world know that you’re still here and you’re anything but hopeless.
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