Distant Memories
This time of year gets especially difficult.
I used to spend Christmas break at my grandma Mimi's house and I looked forward to it more than just about anything else.
I miss waking up to the smell of coffee drifting down the hall to my bedroom. The sound was even comforting.
Of course, this was not the first time I'd wake up in the morning as there was always a chorus of pekingese expressing their interest in going outside, my Buffy scratching at the door begging to join.
I miss going around switching on all of the tree lights, as she had more than one beautiful Christmas tree.
She also had porcelain dolls holding candles that would sway back and forth at the turn of an on-switch. Many might find it creepy, but I found it heartwarming.
Later in the day, she'd help me tear the bread for stuffing, and give the turkey a "shot" as we called it. Her rolls were my favorite, soft and warm, moist and scrumptious.
Her house was always warm and inviting. She let me turn the faux fire places on, both upstairs and down which contributed to the coziness.
There was always a fluffy, happy pekingese waiting to be cuddled at my feet.
Every Christmas eve, we'd watch Home Alone 2, and I was allowed to pick one gift from under the tree to open before we retired to bed, awaiting Santa's arrival.
One night, I saw what I swore was Santa shooting through the sky, but looking back, it was probably a shooting star.
I miss that feeling of warm, innocent belief.
I miss my grandma's hugs and I miss her laugh.
Her house was Christmas to me year-round.
I used to spend Christmas break at my grandma Mimi's house and I looked forward to it more than just about anything else.
I miss waking up to the smell of coffee drifting down the hall to my bedroom. The sound was even comforting.
Of course, this was not the first time I'd wake up in the morning as there was always a chorus of pekingese expressing their interest in going outside, my Buffy scratching at the door begging to join.
I miss going around switching on all of the tree lights, as she had more than one beautiful Christmas tree.
She also had porcelain dolls holding candles that would sway back and forth at the turn of an on-switch. Many might find it creepy, but I found it heartwarming.
Later in the day, she'd help me tear the bread for stuffing, and give the turkey a "shot" as we called it. Her rolls were my favorite, soft and warm, moist and scrumptious.
Her house was always warm and inviting. She let me turn the faux fire places on, both upstairs and down which contributed to the coziness.
There was always a fluffy, happy pekingese waiting to be cuddled at my feet.
Every Christmas eve, we'd watch Home Alone 2, and I was allowed to pick one gift from under the tree to open before we retired to bed, awaiting Santa's arrival.
One night, I saw what I swore was Santa shooting through the sky, but looking back, it was probably a shooting star.
I miss that feeling of warm, innocent belief.
I miss my grandma's hugs and I miss her laugh.
Her house was Christmas to me year-round.
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