Christmas — 1957. It was a magical Christmas that year. Mistletoe hung by Uncle Dewey in hopes that Aunt Vosie will notice the hint hung there. This is something the kids always snickered over. Slippers wrapped up tight in two boxes, one for grandma one and another for grandma two, placed under the tree we decorated by threading popcorn and cranberries on some double thick quilting thread. Our own — clean out of the drawer — stockings hung on Christmas Eve night that Mama and Aunt Vosie would fill with an orange or an apple and always some hard candy. Waking up to the smell from the kitchen that made our mouths water. I’d wondered what was in the box marked for me but I’d dared not sneak a peek. Each of us had one. Just one. A simple Christmas. Joyful and plain as can be to country folk like me. It’s all that we had and it was enough. It was enough because it was more about family than it was about what was under the tree.
I think back to my youth every Christmas Eve. I remember how it was and how far I’ve come to be me. Grateful for the journey I’ve had and ever grateful for what lies ahead. I hope all my readers have a most joy filled Christmas one and all. Thanks for your support this year — your words have been kind — I love you all.