I know I keep going back to this topic but this time of year it hits me right in the gut. I’ve spent hours tracking down vintage decor from years gone by and every piece takes my breath away when I find it because the memories flood my whole world.
Gazing at the Christmas lights in our window and I picture that holly tree outside my childhood living room window and the single strand of Christmas lights my dad put up.
Every Christmas cookie transports me back to that little farmhouse kitchen. I’m right there warm from the roaring fire in the wood stove decorating gingerbread men with my mom. Coconut hair and smartie buttons every year. Those sugar cookies with the Nutty club green and red fancy sugar glisten in my mind. Mincemeat tarts and platters of cheese, garlic sausage with ritz crackers look so fancy in my memory.
Watching Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer in my pj’s on the living room floor. I think I can still feel that worn brown carpet if I close my eyes and try hard enough. That tiny living room felt huge when I was small. The worn tinsel garland hung ceiling corner to corner. Stockings thumb-tacked to that wood panel wall. Santa knew to use the front door because our chimney was certain death as we didn’t have a fireplace. I know Santa knew because big brother Earl assured me every year.
The coffee table always looked festive with a bowl of Christmas candy, a fancy starched dollie and our hobnail flocked poinsettia candle holder. It wasn’t much but oh how I looked forward to helping put those decorations out! The fresh cut tree in the corner was always too big for that room! Back then I didn’t know our home wasn’t fancy. I didn’t know it was too small. It was home and it was welcoming. It was lived in and Christmas made it feel even cozier.
It’s so magical I keep going back there in my dreams because nostalgia thankfully paints over the ugly parts when it comes to take you on a trip down that candy cane lane.
What I wouldn’t give to have one more Christmas in that old farmhouse. One more batch of cookies with Mom. One more trip to cut down a tree with Dad and one more reassuring conversation with my big brother that Santa won’t slide into the wood stove!
I’ll be home for Christmas if only in my dreams.
