Tis The Season
The smell of fresh cut Fir. Bing Crosby’s crooning on the turntable – probably his White Christmas LP special. At church, the story of baby Jesus retold. This is the nostalgia of Christmas past. I spent hours at the kitchen table turning the pages of the Sears catalogue. Toys were circled with color crayon. The little frilly dresses were check marked and the page numbers memorized. It was an optimistic game, mom appreciated the quiet, and I never stopped dreaming… even though I knew that my small presents would never resemble anything close to these opulent choices. The week of the “big day” I would tag along behind my dad as he searched our twenty-seven acres for a suitable evergreen to grace our modest home. Daddy was reluctant. It was a waste of potential firewood or fencing. To him Christmas was a nonsense holiday. Even in the 1950’s there was commercialism and unreasonable expectations…not that any of my siblings hoped...