My love for the holidays began, like most of us, when I was a little kid. We lived down the street from my Nanny and Pappy and from what I remember, spent a great deal of time at their house. And what a house it was at Christmastime! My grandparents took pride in decorating for the holidays. Everything looked pristine, beautiful and wonderfully festive. And Christmas carols were always playing. Old Blue Eyes and Nat King Cole are the ones that I remember most. My pappy knew every word and was always singing along.
More than the feast for the eyes for me was the feeling of pure magic around the holidays in that house. Pappy always gathered the kids around and told stories that made us believe with all of our hearts that the angel on the top of the tree did fly down and tap dance on the table or that a jolly old fat guy, dressed in red, would squeeze himself down the chimney and leave presents for us under the tree.
Christmas for me is more than gift buying and giving. It’s about the feeling that comes with it. And this year, just as I started to wonder where my spirit was, I was flooded with it on December 1st, out of nowhere. The Advent house that I had coveted for years and finally splurged on was pulled out of the box and filled with goodies for my excited 2-year old. The look in her eyes at the thought of Santa already being here, just for her, reminded me of the look I used to have as I sat crossed-legged on the floor with my cousins listening to Pappy’s stories.
And that’s what Christmas is about and should be about. Magic. Belief in something that makes you happy. Time spent with family, friends and loved ones. It really is the most wonderful time of the year.