Celebrating the Holidays (Z Minor)

I must admit my favorite holiday is Christmas. I decorate every room in the house. The principal rooms; living room, dining room, TV room have the most decorations. I have numerous boxes of decorations and seem to add a few more items each year. I always find a place for everything. When I moved to Kansas, we downsized our home. So some stayed packed in their boxes.

There are many items I received as gifts from relatives who have passed away. One I received from my favorite aunt a green candy dish – when I was still in high school. Another I received from an uncle – a homemade sled. I cherished these items and no matter the condition they will always be on display.

My children and grandchildren live on the west coast so I don’t get to see them for the holidays, but I do talk to them. My most fun is buying presents for my family, especially my grandchildren. I try to find novelty gifts. One year it was screaming monkeys. The kids thought they were great. The parents not so much. Still makes me laugh when I think about it.

Christmas is a time for family, friends, and remembering the reason for the season. May each of you have a beautiful, blessed, Merry Christmas and a safe, happy New Year. 

Z. Minor

Author of Historical Romantic & Contemporary Suspense Novels.

Holiday Traditions (Kathy Pritchett)

Ah, holiday traditions. Family wars have begun because someone dared to change something so sacrosanct. In my family, however, we have always had to adjust the days we celebrate because either my brother, my husband, my nephew or my son was working as a firefighter or EMT. We had to await coinciding days off and travel plans to get together.

               Once my kids left home, celebrations became even more difficult. The Christmas my first granddaughter was born, we gathered by phone call from Vietnam to the rest of us in Kansas. Once my daughter began working at Dollywood, she couldn’t come home until after the season closed in January. When the Army transferred my oldest stateside instead of Hawaii, we started the tradition of Christmas in January. Sometimes we gathered at my son’s house in Maryland, sometimes at their timeshare in Tennessee to visit Kellye at Dollywood.

The year my son and his wife announced their pregnancy during a game of Catchphrase (the one tradition that has remained constant), we were at the Presidential Suite in the timeshare in Colonial Williamsburg. We visited Jamestown and ate lunch at a tavern in Old Williamsburg. We had the pool and mini golf to ourselves and watched deer frolic in the meadow. Logan’s first meeting with his cousins was at Ft. Lauderdale (because it was cold in Maryland, Virginia and Tennessee). I scheduled my daughter’s and her husband’s flight to coincide with Casey and Kim’s connections. Kellye and Chaz met them getting off the first plane and were seated across the aisle for the second leg of the trip.

Then last Christmas, due to the Dollywood schedule, we had to delay Christmas until Valentine’s Day so Kate and Alex (and their mother Beth, their teacher) could be out of school. That week the East Coast suffered record cold and a foot of snow. That was fun, had the snow not snarled air traffic, leaving us stranded overnight in the Dallas airport with a two-year-old. So this year, in addition to our new tradition of meeting in Tennessee for Labor Day because the rest of the family could not wait till Christmas to meet new grandbaby Scarlett, we are having Christmas in Tennessee in April.

  

              As for my characters, Richard and Terra have yet to celebrate a Christmas together, but that will play a role in their next tale, Convergence. And Scott is facing a Christmas alone. Stay tuned for more developments there.

What's a Vacation?

I'm serious.  What's a vacation?  It's been so long since I've had one--except for a few working vacations--that I'm afraid I wouldn't recognize one.

There was that trip to Worlds of Fun last summer, after my youngest daughter's graduation.  But, really, my idea of a vacation isn't sharing a (very nice) cabin at WofF village with 8 others and spending the day following everyone, while they rode the rollercoasters and everything else that moved.  Yes, I did ride a few rides, and we did have fun, but a day and a half is not a vacation.  It's a weekend.  Okay, part of a weekend.  Not exactly a dream vacation.

When I was a little girl, a vacation was a yearly standard.  It was easier for my mom and dad, because I was the only one to drag around.  I slept in the backseat or the back of the station wagon, surrounded by books.  (You didn't think I'd be without those, did you?)  I've seen some of the most fabulous places!  Yellowstone Park, Disneyland, Pike's Peak, Mount Rushmore, the U.N., Florida Everglades, and more caverns and waterfalls than I remember.  From east coast to west, north to south, and beyond.  Most of them I remember, some I don't.  48 states, Canada, Mexico and Cuba.  When I was married and my girls were young, our family vacationed often at Silver Dollar City.  My aunt and uncle owned a home on Table Rock Lake, and for several years we visited them.  We went as a family to Savannah, Georgia, to watch my girls' dad play softball, and another trip to do the same in Battle Creek, Michigan.  Since then?  Not a whole lot, unless RWA Conferences (those working vacations) count.

Vacations have become a thing of the past.  But that doesn't mean I don't dream.  Two of my friends (both authors) and I often talk about going to Barbados.  We have a friend there, who we met in a romance writers chatroom back in 1996.  He's an author, too, and would show us THE places to go.  Fun?  Oh, yeah, worlds of fun. ;)  I suspect the biggest chunk of time would be spent lolling on the beach, digging our goes in the sand, and making sure the pina coladas the cabana boys brought us were perfect. Perfect cabana boys, of course. ;)  Isn't perfect what a dream vacation should be?  It would be for me!

There are hundreds of places I'd like to visit, new ones and already-been-there ones, too.  I'd like to go back to NYC for a third time.  And right up there vying for first place with Barbados is a rail trip to Philadelphia, Boston, and Washington, DC, to see the things I missed the first time.  That one might be more doable than Barbados, but why stop dreaming there?

Dreams are what spur us on to do the things we never thought we'd do.  Without them, life would be dull.  So I keep dreaming and wishing and hoping, and that surf along the Barbados coast feels soooooo good. :)

Photo courtesy of visitbarbados.org

Decorating the top one third of the tree (Melissa Robbins)

Unlike Rox, my two sisters and I were the only grandchildren on one side of the family, but that didn’t stop the fun.  Most of my favorite Christmas memories were at my grandparents’ house in the beautiful mountains of North Carolina.  We would pile into our family station wagon and drive down from D.C. to visit them. 

This is me at my grandparents' house.  At first, I wasn't sure which house this way until I noticed the carpet.  My grandmother, Mama Ruth would cook a feast.  Turkey AND ham.  The best green beans in the world and creamed corn from their own garden.  Melissa Pickles.  Coconut cake and her signature sugar cookies.  Pecan Pie.  They also had these awesome soft peppersticks.  Just this year, I found them at a store locally.  I could never find them!  My kids love the candy as much as I do.  Also Reese gave me a jar of her pickles which are the same kind my grandmother made (Melissa Pickles).  I just might be able to make Mama Ruth’s cheeseball that hasn’t been made in sixteen years.  Her pickles were the secret ingredient.   This year, my parents, one sister, and her boyfriend are coming here.  They'll be so surprised. 

On Christmas Eve, we piled back into the station wagon and drove around to look at the Christmas lights. 

This is me and my grandfather dressed as Santa.  

When we were older, we visited the Biltmore House looking gorgeous all decked out for Christmas and the Grove Park Inn and their amazing gingerbread houses.  

My other grandparents lived in Atlanta, GA.  This picture was taken there.  I recognize the curtains.  I loved that dress.  The city looked so pretty at Christmas.  There, we had one cousin, a boy.  We played with all his Legos.  Something we didn’t have at home.  My grandmother worked at Woolworth’s and one year she scored the toy of the year, Cabbage Patch Kids back in October.  I was convinced after seeing the craziness on the TV about the dolls, I wouldn’t get one.  Imagine my surprise.

Now that I’m grown and have four kids of my own, I want my kids to have fun Christmas memories.  We attend the Christmas Eve service at church, pile into the minivan to look at Christmas lights, sing Christmas songs, and make gingerbread cookies.  When my youngest was almost one, we were the Holy family and Gwinn starred as baby Jesus.  The future actress stole the show with her applauding loudly after the songs, waving and shouting, “Hello, how you?” when the shepherds, angels, and wise men showed up.   She had the crowd rolling with laughter. 

My three oldest kids helped me decorate our tree this year and we continued the tradition of putting most of the ornaments on the top one third of the tree so Gwinn wouldn’t break them.  She has since removed all the ones from the bottom.  My tree hasn’t had ornaments on the bottom of the Christmas tree since my first kid could crawl. 

Merry Christmas to you all!  Now go make memories of your own. 

Christmas Memories

Although I'm adopted, I've always been fascinated by my mother's family, because they were the center of my winter holidays when I was growing up.

My great-great-grandparents came to America from Bavaria, Germany, in 1886 and settled near a small town southwest of Wichita with their three children.  They were farmers who spoke no English but soon learned the ways of their new home.  A fourth child was born seven years later.  Two generations later, my grandmother was the second of seven children.  It was that generation that I remember, although my grandmother died when I was six months old, as did my great-grandfather, two of her sisters married and lived near the small town.  It was to their houses and those of their children that we spent our Thanksgiving and Christmases.

My great-grandparents and their seven children

An average winter holiday included 20 of us, and my fondest memories were at my Great-aunt Dorothy's house, the youngest of the seven children.  She and her husband lived on a farm southwest of town in a house that was built in the 1890's.  Uncle Milt (her husband) was born in that house in 1900, and they raised their two daughters there.  When everyone got together, whether there or at Great-aunt Lucy's house or cousins Kenneth & June, NOISE was the word of the day, quickly followed by FOOD.  My mother was always in charge of the turkey, and I remember waking up on Thanksgiving to watch the parades and on Christmas to see what Santa brought with the smell of roasting turkey throughout the house.  After packing up the presents for the family, we'd head out for the long trip to the country.  You see, it was twenty-five miles at the most, and the drive took just over half an hour, but to a small child, it was a long journey to sleep through.

We averaged twenty family members who gathered each holiday, with sometimes more when cousins would come from far away or someone would bring a boyfriend.  After dinner the grown-ups would gather around the big table and play Pitch, a card game, for hours, while those of us in the younger set would play outside or with new Christmas toys.  (One year Santa brought me a microscope, so we pricked our fingers and watched the squiggles in our blood.) I don't remember ever watching television or it ever being on.  The grown-ups' card games generated the most noise, with good-natured arguing and laughing.  When my cousins and I were older, Aunt Dorothy would let us use an extra wooden-legged card table, and we'd make it talk.

You've never heard of a table talking?  It's based on the idea of a Ouija board.  Four of us girls would sit at the table and place our hands flat on top of it.  Then we'd start chanting, "Up table, up!" while (great) Uncle Sterl would make fun of us--and the table would rise a few inches off the floor.  We'd ask a question of the table, giving instructions on how to answer (1 knock for yes, 2 for no or knocks for numbers or letters), and the table would tip on two legs, then drop down to knock and tell us what we wanted to know.  (Just so you know it wasn't only my crazy family who did this, a good friend in Texas has done the same.)

Evening would come, and the card games would stop, while the men (all farmers except my dad) drove home to do chores.  Dessert was enjoyed (again), then the games would continue.  Small children would fall asleep in the laps of mothers and fathers or curl up in a chair in the long, quiet living room.  It was always dark when we packed up to go home, tired from the excitement but filled with the happy feeling that only good company and family can provide.

 My great-aunts and uncles, my aunt and uncle, and my parents are gone.  The big family Christmases dwindled and came to a close when my generation came of age and started their own families and began sharing holidays with their in-laws.  Aunt Dorothy and Uncle Milt's two-story white Victorian still stands at the curve of the county road, but belongs to someone else now.  But it will always be a place of happy memories, so much so that I used it as the backdrop for my upcoming June 2013 book, DESIGNS ON THE COWBOY.

Christmas has changed many times since those days spent in the country with relatives of all ages.  Sometimes we're lucky and traditions continue.  When they don't, we find ways of making new ones while putting the old ones aside.  But even when they're changed or gone, we still keep the memories of them in our hearts.

Wishing you all a wonderful holiday season, full of love, joy, laughter, and the very best in life.   

I Remember Lexi (Penny Rader)

2006 was a grandchildren bonanza for me. Two grandbabies were born days apart in June and one more arrived mid-September. There was definitely a lot of joy that year. There was also fear. And sorrow.

One day, while witnessing my daughter Kathy's sonogram, we received some frightening news. Lexi would be born with a rare disability. Her femur bones were missing. We drew some deep breaths and bombarded heaven with prayers, certain we could get through this. Then Lexi arrived two months early. It didn't look good. Her lungs weren't fully developed. I can't find the words to explain how scared I was, we all were. My dh was in Houston because a grandson had been born four days earlier. I had to ask him to come home because we didn't know how long we'd have Lexi with us.

Lexi was a scrapper. She hung in there and fought for her life. When she was a few weeks old she was sent to Children's Mercy hospital in Kansas City. She had to have a tracheostomy to help her breathe. I can't thank the staff of Children's Mercy and the Ronald McDonald Houses enough for all they did for us while we were in KC. Lexi was finally able to return to Wesley hospital here in Wichita about a month later. I forget how many times she battled pneumonia. It became a routine for me to go to the hospital after work and read or sing softly to her for a while. I always kept a bag packed just in case we'd have to make another trip to KC.

That little girl had spunk. She had her favorites among the staff. She'd pretend to be asleep when a doctor she wasn't fond of came into the room. I've been told she also pulled the same stunt when they came in for physical therapy. After they left her room she'd open one eye and look around.

She came home from the hospital the end of November. My daughter's living room became Lexi Central. Her ventilator was pretty noisy. Home health nurses were on hand nearly round the clock. She made another trip or two back to hospital because of pneumonia. Because she had survived those first scary days I fully expected my little sweetie to keep chugging along. I was looking forward to watching her grow and amaze us all. Then, on December 11, minutes after I had gotten up to get ready for work, the phone rang. It was Kathy, asking me to come to the hospital. She told me Lexi had died. I couldn't wrap my brain around that. Sometimes I still can't.

She'd be four now. I look at Liam and Jessalyn, the other grandbabies born that year, and wonder what Lexi'd be like now. I'm sure she's giving the good Lord a great deal of pleasure and joy. I picture her laughing and running and keeping Him on his toes.

Something positive did come out of our loss. My daughter and Lexi's daddy formed a foundation in memory of Lexi. It's called Lexi's LAMB. We provide toys and activities for children in the hospital. On Christmas Eve we deliver presents in person to the children who are unable to go home. This year we'll also be giving small care packages to the parents. Just a few small things we hope will make their hospital stay a bit easier.

Till we meet again, Lexi girl. I just want you to know how much you were loved and how grateful I am for the five months we had with you. I miss you like crazy, punkin. I still haven't completely unpacked that bag.

I'll Do Some Caroling

Here is my gift to my fellow WARA members and any other of our blog followers at this special time of year: A new Blossom story. Also, here is a picture of the "Blossom" Christmas tree in my office.

“Rockin’ around the Christmas tree,” Blossom moo-sang in her loudest voice, swaying her flank—which, she admitted, could stand a little trimming down—from side to side. “At the Christmas party hop.”

For Elsie’s benefit, Blossom did a fancy little hop, first the front legs and then the back legs. Something she’d perfected in the last few days. Much, of course, to Elsie’s continual eye-rolling at her practicing.

Elsie gave her typical harrumph and turned the other way in the field. No “party” mood for Her Highness, Blossom thought with a smile. The cranky Jersey paid as little notice to the whole holiday season from Thanksgiving through New Year as possible. Same thing every year. But not Blossom. Oh no. She loooved holidays, especially Christmas.

“You will get a sentimental feeling when you hear voices singing.” Happily singing away, she strolled off toward the corner of the field where Ferdinand would, hopefully, be waiting to greet her. To heck with Elsie and her sour mood. The same went for the foolish dozen other cows who she knew yearned to be happy and heart-free like herself, yet who were wary of crossing Elsie. She could hold one devil of a grudge. Most cows didn’t want to risk facing it day-in and day-out, but Blossom didn’t mind at all.

“Let’s be jolly.” She did another zippy little hoof two-step, bopping her head around in pure delight. “Everyone’s dancing merrily.” Okay she didn’t know all of the words to the song she’d heard Farmer Sam’s daughters singing occasionally, but did it matter. No.

“Let the Christmas Spirit ring,” she mooed and picked up her pace. The wind really was kind of biting this morning as it blew across the snow-free field.

She shivered and breathed in the cold air. Instinct told her there would soon be snow covering this land. Most of the herd—including Elsie the opinionated—hated snow. Blossom didn’t particularly like being cold when she made her daily round about the field, but she would venture forth in rain, sleet, hail, snow… Well, in most any inclement weather to go see her beloved Ferdinand.

Thinking of her handsome one-ton prime bull had her almost skipping now. “We sing a love song…Your nose is a chilling…We’ll frolic and play…walking in a winter wonderland.”

She hesitated and blinked. Were those words right? Had she combined songs? Did it matter? Nope!

A familiar deep bellow pulled her from her wandering thoughts. Warmth curled through her. Ferdinand.

Donning her most beatific smile, she sped toward him. Her hunka-hunka burning love had already nudged down the weak part of the fence so that she could join him. He stood watching her, proud head held high, anticipation dancing in his large brown eyes. Heat, too. Naughty, naughty bull. She knew just what he was thinking, wanting.

“You should play harder to get.” Elsie’s words of disgust so often spoken to her crawled through her thoughts. “He only wants you for one thing.”

Not exactly true, although Blossom knew he really did enjoy that one thing. So what! So did she. But she also knew he really liked spending time with her. How many times had he stood patiently letting her babble on—and she did have a tendency to babble at times—about this or that? Did he ever make fun of her spinning tales of fancy? No. Did she manage to get him past his stoic, too serious moods with a bout of teasing or tickling that special spot just behind his ear with her tongue? You betcha!
“Last Christmas I gave you my heart…I gave it to someone special,” she sang, her heart fairly bursting with love. Her hoofs danced over the rest of the distance between them.

“Ah, my sweet Blossom,” Ferdinand rumbled, tenderness lighting his eyes. “You own my heart as well.”

As she stepped carefully over the downed fence and snuggled next to him, he heaved a relieved sigh. “Merry Christmas, my love.”

She tucked the words inside her and playfully nibbled at his ear. All was right with her world. “Back at you, my love.”

Past Christmases: Memorable in Many Ways

AS a child, there were good holidays and bad ones.  Like everyone else, I had good ones and bad ones, but they were all memorable.

Six years old and in first grade.  Back in the day when clothes from the dry cleaners came in long, paper bags, I really liked my teacher.  She was beautiful.  She was fun.  She was a nun.  And she came up with the neatest idea for a gift we could each make for our parents.  We each would lie down on a dry cleaning bag, and she would draw around us, then we would get to "decorate" ourselves with crayons.  (Hair, facial features, even our clothes!)  The day I was to be drawn around, I didn't go to school.  I had the mumps, and I didn't make it back to school again until after the Christmas holiday.  No nifty gift for my parents, only pain and looking like a squirrel ready to carry the latest haul of nuts up a tree.  Not my favorite Christmas.

Seven years old and in second grade.  I really didn't like my teacher.  She was a nun, too.  And she didn't like me, because I had earaches and couldn't always go out to recess---doctor's orders.  That meant finding a place or someone to watch over me, while everyone else went outside in the cold.  That year for Christmas we made our parents Christmas cards.  We began with our choice of red or green construction paper, folded in half.  Sister Mary Christette (or however it was spelled) would hold the folded, colored paper against the wall with a stencil of our choice over it.  We each then sprayed "snow" on our card, revealing a beautiful, snowy image when the stencil was removed.  I stepped up and was handed the can of spray snow.  Holding it out toward my card with the pretty angel stencil, I pushed the button.  Only the button wasn't pointed directly at the card.  It was pointed at Sister Mary Christette.  In her long black habit, which was now covered with white snow.  To say she was angry would be an understatement.

One Christmas was definitely not one that I'd want to skip.  Three older kids lived next door to us, and they were like the brother and sisters I didn't have.  One year for Christmas, they gave me a 3x5 index card that read:  "We didn't finish the boxes of cereal fast enough, so Linda will be a little late arriving."  They'd saved boxtops to get me a doll that represented Danny Thomas's daughter, Linda, on the TV show Make Room for Daddy.  I cried and cried, I was so happy.  Another year the two older girls were making a cute little quilted skirt and vest for their cousin for Christmas.  When Christmas arrived, I learned that the "cousin" they'd made the roller skating outfit for was me.

My own children have their own memories of our Christmases, and now we're all making new memories for their children.  I hope your memories of Christmas are as good as ours!

The Kick-ass Badass Love of Her Life

When I first thought about writing about something one of my characters held near and dear to their heart, I panicked. Oh my gosh! My characters don't ever do that!

And then I remembered Holly in Holly's Big, Bad Santa, one of my Christmas stories last year. Jared had been her high school sweetheart, the boy she'd hoped to marry after graduation. But he'd left town fifteen years ago, two days before Christmas, and hurt his parents and crushed her dreams. He'd left a note for her in a small box with a sprig of holly. "I have to go. I love you, but I've got to go." She still had that crumpled, tear-stained note after all these years. Now he'd returned. Now he wanted her back, but forgiving the town's bad boy wasn't all that easy. Even if the "bad boy" had returned as the sexiest, hottest badass with a wounded heart that was hard to resist.

Reading further into the story, I realized what a keeper of mementos Holly was, a heroine so much like myself. While searching for socks in a dresser drawer, she found the necklace Jared had given her their senior year in high school. A delicate gold chain with a small green, holly-shaped charm. He'd been so excited when he'd found the necklace in a catalogue and ordered it especially for her. She remembered how she'd sobbed in happiness as he'd ever so carefully put it around her neck. In truth, she hadn't gotten rid of anything he'd ever given her. It was all packed away in boxes in the attic, except the necklace. She'd always needed it closer to her than the attic.

Next I remembered another touching (at least to me) scene in Bah Humbug, Cowboy, a Christmas story published a couple of years ago. Lacey and Devlin had been married for a number of years. Like so many couples, they were both busy and went in different directions much of the time. She often traveled to give private barrel racing lessons and had been gone longer than expected this last trip. Devlin had missed her and looked forward to her return, but her best friend had shown up to wait with him for Lacey's return. Somehow they'd ended up hugging one another in comfort, and then she was kissing him right when Lacey walked into the kitchen and caught them. He'd been maneuvered into a compromising position by the "friend" who'd gotten too interested in him. His guilt was crushing, especially when Lacey looked so angry and so hurt. His precious wife wasn't ready to listen to his flimsy excuses and drove away. He knew they needed some time and space to get past this blow to their marriage. But darkness surrounded him, tore through him as the light that was his life drove away from him. Somehow he'd have to mend fences and get her back.

Christmas had always been a special time for them, with Lacey going all out in decorating. She'd decided to go back to him on Christmas day, determined to make things right. Going home was hard now and she wasn't positive she could get him to forgive her for being so stubborn about what had happened that awful day. Her friend had confessed she wanted Devlin and trapped him when she'd seen Lacey driving up. Her former friend. But that hadn't been all of their problems. Hopefully, they could work through issues within their marriage they'd both been ignoring. She just didn't know what to expect today and she was anxious about it.

Until she walked into the disaster that was her kitchen. Flour and goo covered nearly every counter space. Dozens of cookies sat cooling and there were two big pans of gingerbread cake. Her Christmas recipes! He'd tried his hand at making the foods she usually made for the holiday. How sweet. And what a mess! She grabbed a sugar cookie and followed the sound of Devlin singing in his rich baritone to "Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer," his favorite song.

Then she stopped to stare at the living room. She'd forgotten all about decorating her home with all of their problems. She'd thought of that on the drive here and felt awful. Devlin hadn't had a happy childhood and hadn't celebrated Christmas until she'd met him. Now he loved that time of year. She'd worked hard every year to make the season special for him, going all out with decorations and baking. Evidently he'd taken over for her this year. All of her large Santa collection was displayed on the mantle, on the bookshelves, and on the end tables. Most surprising, though, was the eight-foot plus tree standing beside the fireplace, fully decorated with the ornaments they had bought together over the years. Devlin had just placed the angel on the top. He looked at her from where he stood on a stepstool and grinned like a young boy seeking approval for something special he'd done. She burst into tears.

Another Christmas Come and Gone

Christmas is one of my favorite times of the year for so many reasons. I love the get-togethers with family and friends, the special shows put on by the local music theatres, the excitement and anticipation on young children's faces, and hearing the memories of past Christmases that my senior adult friends share with me.

I'm a sentamentalist who keeps way too many "memory" items. I have boxes of old school papers of my own, my siblings, and my daughter's. I'm the designated keeper of all generations of family photos for my family and for my husband's family. I keep souvenirs from trips, from events, and even movie tickets. Basically if it can (and probably shouldn't be) kept, I keep it. (I am trying to sort through things now and thin out those amazing collections since I don't believe my daughter really wants to inherit quite so many "treasures.") And I have many, many special keepers from Christmases over the years.

I enjoy seeing what my friends and family collect as decorations. Some people put up exquisitely decorated trees or have holiday designers do their trees. They are nice, in my opinion, but not special. I like seeing trees filled with ornaments made and collected over the years. That's the kind of Christmas tree we put up. Some of my most beloved ornaments are the twisted pipe cleaner ones or the felt ones made by my daughter when she was very young. You aren't really sure what they are, but they're keepers. Even more so because she always tries to hide them at the back of the tree.

I also treasure the ornaments friends and family have made for me: beautifully beaded ones made by my Great Aunt, handpainted ones lovingly created especially for me by my niece, crocheted candy canes, and the special ornaments people choose for me. And I pick up ornaments when I travel to different places.

Every year when I decorate the tree it's a time to reflect on the past. The last few years my daughter and one of my nieces has helped decorate the tree and put out my other holiday collections of decorations: snowmen, angels, Santas, gingerbread men, and my holiday houses. As we pull out the decorations and decide what to put on the tree, we talk about our memories of the ornaments. Unless an ornament gets totally broken, it will find its way onto the overly decorated tree. The wounded but beloved ornament will be nestled on a branch. The tattered and stained small cloth angel that my daughter took from the tree and played with when she was young still finds its way onto our tree.

I hope each of you had a wonderful Christmas and that you took the time to drift through pleasant memories of past years.

Shrieks of Christmas Past

There have been very few times in my life where I got something I really, really wanted for Christmas. I got a lot of things I liked, but not what my heart actually desired. Maybe I didn’t make my wants known to others, maybe they were too expensive or too hard to acquire. Or as my naughty husband implies, I’m just too picky. I doubt I’ll ever know and at this point in life, I don’t even care. But there is one Christmas that stands out where I not only got something I truly wanted, but something I never asked for in the first place.

We were all packed into my sister’s living room, sharing space with crumpled wrapping paper and gifts haphazardly strewn across the floor. The fireplace was warming my backside as I sat at its corner on the floor. The scent of apple and cinnamon candles, turkey, pumpkin pie and wood smoke permeated the air. The crackle of the fire was punctuated by rounds of laughter, thank you and the occasional, “Oh good grief, what am I going to do with that?”

My sister’s gift to me was a good sized box which I dutifully shook, and attempted to weigh, but had no clue what it might actually contain. Imagine my extreme surprise to find a case, not just a box, but a case of Team cereal. I was so excited I actually screamed my delight.

For those of you under the age of, well, just under; Team cereal was the BEST cereal of my generation and our personal favorite. It was healthy too, which made us seem really weird to our friends, but we didn’t care. We noticed in the early nineties, I think, that our usual store quit carrying it. We then excitedly called each other and bought extra boxes to share any time we did happen upon some but eventually, it went the way of the dinosaur and disappeared from sight.

Imagine our heartbreak and disappointment at finding no Team to start our days with. We each sampled unknown, but similar looking cereals, in hopes of finding a suitable replacement but to no avail. Disenchantment and disappointment ruled our mornings (Big Sigh!) until my sister sneakily discovered that it could be ordered by the case from our friendly neighborhood Dillons store.

My ecstasy increased when I offered to share the case with her and she informed me that she had bought her own. Hallelujah, the only threats to my mouth’s eternal bliss were all the kids parading through my house that thought they should be fed. I tried to hide them (the boxes not the kids) but no dice, they had witnessed the opening, they knew I had them somewhere. Alas, I had to share! (Bigger Sigh)

Life was good until I hit that last box and discovered that Dillons could no longer order my beloved Team, even by the case. Woe is me! That was still one of the best Christmas’s and one of the best presents ever. And I’m sure that my shriek of eternal glee is still reverberating around the neighborhood, haunting the houses as a joyful ghost of Christmas past.