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© T.W. Winslow
Growing up, Christmas to me always began with the annual trek to my
aunt and uncle's small farm on Christmas eve. My brothers and I would
begrudgingly struggle into our proper Christmas attire - shirts with
stiff collars that scratched our necks and ties which our father cinched
so tightly blood flow would not return to our brains for days to follow.
After passing inspection we'd all load into the car, being careful not
to forget mom's "famous" Jell-O salad - you remember the kind, red
Jell-O with mystery chunks of something which resembled fruit and a
healthy slathering of whipped cream on top. Making our way to the farm
over ice covered roads, we'd entertain our parents with unrelenting
backseat fighting, complaints, and bickering.
Dad would be oblivious to our antics - eyes transfixed on the slick
roads and a mighty death grip on the steering wheel of our trusty Ford
which sped along at a blistering pace of six miles per hour. Mom of
course would be full of Christmas cheer and eager to cram as much of it
down our throats as possible before arriving at our destination. By the
time we'd finally make the farm, the backseat would resemble a war-zone,
dad would be completely frazzled from the drive, and mom would be
contemplating adoption agencies for her unruly children who still lacked
even one ounce of Christmas spirit despite her best efforts over the
long journey.
Piling out of the car and starting for the house, invariably someone
would have to return to the trusty Ford and retrieve mom's Jell-O salad,
which by that time had suffered unspeakable acts of torture and more
resembled a horror movie prop than any side-dish. I think it would be
fair to say by that point we all were silently wondering to ourselves
why we endured this particular Christmas tradition? Then without fail
something mysterious and wonderful would happen.
Rushing inside to escape the cold winter's air, we would be suddenly
overtaken by the smells and sounds of Christmas. Removing our coats and
boots we'd make our way from the back door through the kitchen and, in
the process, our noses would be filled with smells so wonderful words
fail to describe. (My aunt had a way in the kitchen which would put even
Martha Stewart to shame.)
Moving past the huge dining room table that was always beautifully
decorated and picture perfect, we would enter the main room filled with
our family and friends - some of whom we hadn't seen since Christmas eve
the year before. Warm embraces, smiles, laughter, and exchanges of
"Merry Christmas" would ensue. A fat Christmas tree always stood in the
corner with lots of brightly wrapped presents underneath. Christmas
lights twinkled and holiday music played. No matter what ill feelings we
may have had not two minutes before would magically be gone - replaced
by a sense belonging, warmth, love, and holiday cheer.
I think back to those Christmas eves long ago with fondness and longing.
I think of those who are no longer with us and those whom I haven't seen
in years. I remember the stories my granddad shared with us kids by the
fire and the rose scented perfume my grandmother wore. I see the
youthful faces of my parents laughing and talking with friends and
family. I remember the wonderful dinners my aunt always made and those
delicious homemade pickles she canned. I remember how that old farm
house reminded me of a picture from a Christmas card, and how my uncle
always made us feel especially welcome.
Now hundreds of miles separate me from that old farmhouse and this year
my wife and I and our two young children will spend Christmas by
ourselves. There will be no long drive to endure, no scratchy collars or
strangling ties. No kids fighting in the backseat nor mystery Jell-O to
hide on our plates. I'm beginning to wonder how I will know when
Christmas begins this year? I only hope my wife and I will be able to
create as good and lasting of memories for our children as I hold so
dear from my own childhood.
Here's to Christmas memories - those we have lived and those yet to be.
About The Author:
Passing Thoughts is a syndicated column published on quality web sites,
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