we are lying under the Christmas tree, my sister and i. we are small and easily impressed, looking upwards through the lights, giggling about how tall it is. we make our ornaments come to life in their fir-fringed treehouse village, squinting to make stars around each light. we try to sing all of the twelve days of Christmas (we are not sure which day the drummers drum and which day the lords ‘a leap but are incredibly fervent on five golden rings) mom emerges from the wrapping room, great hide-eum of Christmas creation, coaxes us out with cookies, a snowball and a kieflie, maybe some egg-nog if we don’t knock off any of the ornaments. she coaxes us out with the promise of putting presents under the tree. the candles are lit and the fireplace is burning. mom is smiling her Christmas smile, and though excited to receive our cookies, and to clammor for glimpses of gift tags, we are reluctant to leave the word under the tree. we are 24 and 17, and plan to revist next year and all the ones after, just like we always have.
i was thinking of this because last year i moved and had my own tree. this year though, we’re tearing up the kitchen, so now i have a stove where my tree goes and i don’t think there will be time to decorate. i’ve considered stringing the stove with lights, but there’s no world under “the Christmas stove”. so i’ll have to wait until after the presents are opened at mom’s house, this year, before i take my annual trip…
i will post photos from the 1st annual Christmas photo safari when i’ve taken them.
“It’s the most wonderful time….of the year”