Growing up I always had an artificial Christmas tree.
Christmas came just two months after my husband and I were married.
That was the year I had my first real Christmas tree.
I was so excited to finally have a real tree in our apartment.

The smell of the pine needles was amazing.
The wintry smell permeated every crevice of our tiny apartment.
I had some ornaments from when I was a girl.
No glass Christmas balls, since the memory of breaking them was fresh in my mind.

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My daughters and I have a mother-daughter day sometime in December.
It is a tradition we started years ago and look forward to each year.
We do things together throughout the year, but this is always a dress-up kind of occasion.
This is about doing something different; it is about creating a special memory.

We have gone to New York and taken a carriage ride through Central Park.
We have gone to the ballet and seen The Nutcracker.
We have gone to the theater and seen Elf.
We have gone to the beautiful Longwood Gardens for their Christmas display.

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How I love my Nativity set.
It has been my manger since I was a little girl.
Its pieces have been well used and well loved.
Each year when I unwrap them, I remember.

I remember where the manger was placed in my house growing up.
I remember playing with all the figures ever so gently.
Don’t touch the camel, my mother would say.
That directive was more out of necessity, since the legs of the camel were thin and delicate.

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Two years ago, we had a gas fireplace installed in our family room.
It was one of those decisions we have never regretted.
The ease with which we can have a fire going at any time has been a blessing.
On a chilly, rainy day, the push of a button starts the fire.

It actually warms the entire house, with a fan that brings the heat back into the room.
With our high ceilings, the warm air rises and reaches the upstairs rooms.
When the ceiling fan goes in the reverse direction, the warm air circulates well.
The favorite seat in the house is near the fire.

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It is like night and day.
The differences are obvious.
The worldview is evident.
There is a line of demarcation between the two houses.

The houses are on a road that runs parallel to a main road.
I take this other road when I want to avoid traffic during the busier times of day.
It is a road where the speed is marked 25 miles an hour.
Going slow, down this curvy road, allows me look at the houses a bit as I drive.

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The blanket hangs over the wing chair in my living room.
It was a gift many Christmases ago.
It is a cozy throw that can easily be wrapped around you on a cold night.
Wrapped around you or danced upon, depending on your age.

The blanket is designed to look like a windowpane.
There are twelve squares.
Each square depicts an item from the Twelve Days of Christmas song.
Each day represents one gift.

When my youngest daughter was in preschool, she came up with an idea.

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She came up to me after church with her mother by her side.
She was holding something in her hand.
She looked very anxious to hand it to me.
She held her hand out proudly.

Her smile melted my heart.
Is this for me?
For you, she said emphatically.
She looked so adorable in her pretty dress.

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I walked through the gorgeous house not knowing where to look next.
Room after room was elegantly decorated for Christmas.
Fresh flowers filled the vases; antiques collected were now on display.
I was experiencing the Yuletide tour at a grand estate house.

I had my favorite rooms; I had my favorite style of furniture.
I tried to imagine myself living in such opulence.
I couldn’t; it was a lovely place to visit but not a place I would want to stay.
It is a world I know nothing about, but for the afternoon I got a glimpse of that life.

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I found them at a Christmas shop years ago.
It was something I remember from when I was a little girl.
I would be mesmerized as I sat for the longest time watching.
I would watch the angels move.

The angels would move slowly at first then much faster.
The bells would ring ever so slightly.
Then it would seem as if a symphony of bells were playing all around me.
I wanted to know how it all worked; it seemed so magical.

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Growing up in elementary school, I was in the choir.
Practically every girl was in the choir; no auditions were necessary.
We were expected to actually sing and not just mouth the words.
We were expected to be part of the Christmas Eve program.

Being part of the choir meant that we were all angels.
The angels were in the choir loft.
What a wondrous sight that must have been.
Reminiscent of what it must have been like that first Christmas.

Almost.

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