|Mom and her famous wreaths|
My own personal treasure chest of memories may seem incidental to most, but these little bits of Christmas fill my heart with emotion each time I reflect...
- The warmth of the stove on my three-year old back as I sat next to it, playing with my magnetic alphabet set. I was allowed to open one gift early on Christmas Eve. An act of charity as I was home bound with the Chicken Pox. We did not go to our grandparents that year. Mom cooked a turkey and our little family stayed home.
- The sight of a three-wick candle burning brightly in the formal living room. The lights were dimmed with Elvis singing Christmas carols from vinyls in the background. Our record player was a large piece of furniture used to display our favorite holiday knick-knacks.
- The chime of my Grandma Gib's clock, serving as a happy reminder to the grandkids of the golden hours; time for opening presents and time to eat Christmas dinner.
- The strong smells that combined in our home every Christmas Day in the 1970's; the paint from my Paint-by-Numbers conjoined mid-air with the potent smell from my brothers' model glue activities.
- The sweet aroma of my mother's baked holiday wreaths. She baked them in bulk for our neighbors and friends. Once cooled, she would carefully frost and decorate with an artist's precision. My brothers and I would stick our fingers in the frosting bowl for a lick when she wasn't looking.