Wednesday, December 22, 2010

Ghosts Of Christmases Past....

It’s snowing here. The big beautiful fluffy snowflakes that drape our gray landscape in blankets of white.  Fireplace is roaring, I’ve just added two more logs.  Snapping, crackling, red and yellow flames reaching upward.  Christmas candles lit, Baileys and coffee, and my best friend; my laptop.  there's just the whir of the laptop fan, the snapping of the fire, and silence from outside the window.  Just a white blanket of snow on this eve before Christmas Eve.

This will be a peaceful and quiet holiday for me this year.  I’m not the least bit disappointed by that, I’m very satisfied with that choice.  No hustle and bustle, no road trips all over town, no extra presents to buy and wrap and deliver.  No sitting uncomfortably as a guest on a foreign couch after a feast on honey ham and bread pudding.

I finished my shopping later than expected.  I reflect on Christmases past, as my eyelids droop, lying here on the couch in front of my fireplace.  One in particular comes to mind as I drift off......

A much younger me appears.  I’m thinner, with a full head of hair, and a new fall sweater.  I’m standing in the doorway, waiting for her to answer.  The door opens, fresh garland wreath swinging, and she’s there, in her long black angora sweater and  leggings.  Auburn hair gently curling down past her shoulders.  We hug and kiss on the cheek, and I remove my snow dusted coat.  The multicolored tree lights illuminate the room.  The big bulbed kind, the ones you screw into the sockets.  A small Santa candle is the only other light in the living room.  We sit on opposite ends of the couch.   

We hand each other presents.  I had to go back to my coat, because I had left the box in my coat pocket.  “Girls love little boxed gifts”, my Father told me.  She squeals with delight as she opens the paper; neatly, as if the paper was an important part of the present.  The box opens to reveal a silvery shiny gift.  A necklace she had admired once as we passed the jewelry counter.  “NO, you remembered!!”  Her smile is brighter than that huge tree in the corner.  She hugs me hard, and kisses me soft.  She pulls the necklace out, and I help her put it on, as she holds her auburn locks off to one side. I lean in close.  She smells amazing.  Like sugar cookies and passion.

She jumps up and runs to the mirror to see herself with her shiny new gift.  “It’s perfect, just purrrrfect”.  Back to the couch, and now she’s sitting on my lap, one arm around my neck, and she’s whispering, “This is the best Christmas, ever..... You are sooo sweet....”  We kiss.  Much longer this time, and we mean it.  We couldn’t be happier, and satisfied, and in love.  We don’t need to say it, we both know what’s happening.  We sit and look at each other, smiling, ear to ear, and just soak in the moment.  Everything seems to fade away and it’s just us amid the twinkling Christmas tree light.

I awaken to embers in the fireplace.  A few blueish red coals in a heap.  I scramble the embers with a poker, and grab my laptop and head for bed.  When I put down my laptop, and begin to log off,  I’ve got mail.....  An e-card from my distant past.....  She says she still has that necklace.  It is a very good Christmas, indeed.


  1. Oh. My. Gosh. Are you going to tell us more, or what? You wouldn't leave your readers hanging, would you? You are a wonderful story teller, and I always get swept right along with your words. "The bulbs you screw into the sockets"... yeh, I remember. The famous "foreign couch"... I don't like that either. Except for reading sweet stories like yours, I'd rather hang out with my laptop any day. Merry Christmas, Tim.

  2. Beautifully written. Hope you had a wonderful quiet Christmas. :-)

  3. Thanks for the kind words. I can't reveal the rest of the story, Linda... I write fiction. It couldn't possibly be true...

    Or could it?

  4. will check back for ANY ending, fictitious or otherwise.

    (geez! what a great first impression!)

  5. Dear Mama, I'm so very flattered that you had a good first impression. Follow along......

  6. okay... true testament to your writing that i am still here after graphic vomit post.

    and yet i am.

  7. Mama, you're a trooper. Stick and stay, it's not all poo poo and vomit jokes.