Christmas Eve
As I entered our car, a fear came over me as if it were a wet blanket, cold as ice. I remember just last year, Christmas Eve and my grandparents, the happiest time of my life. The feeling of love, as if it were everyone's day. But today something was different.
The Christmas Eve, just one year ago today started out at my father's house. It is a large house, but old, the windows leaked and if you were to sit in the livingroom chair you would almost always need a blanket. The chair was next to the window and every time the wind blew a little would come in, not enough for a problem just enough to know it was there. For some reason it still felt warm, maybe not heat warmth but warmth inside. This is where I grew up; I knew every corner, every creek in the floor. I knew what steps creaked and just how hard to push the door so it closed but didn't slam.
It was about two in the afternoon. My father, my sister and I were all getting ready for the night's event at my grandparents. My father and I would need about an hour to be ready, but my sister Sarah would need at least two. Everyone was frantic, as if a hurricane were on the way. My dad running around in his underwear and only one sock on was looking for his hairbrush. Which he didn't need because his hair was as thin as a cheep blush. He actually had to sell his convertible because he was tired of putting sunscreen on his forehead. I called it his five-head. Sarah, my little sister, only 19, would spend most of her time in the bathroom, it would seem as if she would curl the same strands of hair for hours. She always looked nice. I was in my room, dressed in all but my socks. I had to borrow a black pair from my dad as I always had to. I tell him I keep losing
them but I don't think I ever owned my own pair.
When we arrived at my grandparents, before even opening the door, there was a smell of food like no other. As if we Walked into an Italian festival, and in many ways this was.
I stepped out of the chilly November air and into the warmth of my home. The first snowfall of the year had hit early in the morning, and the soft, powdery snow provided entertainment for hours. As I laid my furry mittens and warm hat on the bench to dry, I was immediately greeted with the rich scent of sweet apple pie, pumpkin pie, mashed potatoes, and the twenty-pound turkey my mother was preparing for our Thanksgiving feast.
Christmastime was always a magical time of year for me. The beautifully decorated shopping malls, with toys everywhere you looked, always fascinated me. And the houses, with the way their lights would glow upon the glistening snow at night, always seemed to calm me. But decorating the Christmas tree and falling asleep underneath the warm glow of the lights, in awe that Santa Claus would soon be there, was the best part of it all. As a child, these things enchanted me. Sure, the presents were great, but the excitement and mystery of Christmas; I loved most of all. Believing…that’s what it was all about. Believing there really was a Santa and waking up Christmas morning, realizing he’d come, as my sleepy eyes focused on all the fancily wrapped presents before me.
It is curious that as children, humans have the ability to observe and remember details of specific situations and instances yet lack the ability to describe them. Truman Capote, as a grown man, took advantage of his vivid memories and composed the short work, "A Christmas Memory." The story begins in late November, a month symbolic of all the years gone by that Capote could remember beginning preparations for Christmas fruitcakes.
The car ride lasted for what felt like an eternity, my parents continuously tried to make small talk but it never helped all I could think of was what I lost and couldn’t ever get back. We finally arrived at the gate leading to the house which looked more like an old...
It was finally fall break. I was visiting my grandma for a few days. Well past dinnertime, I pulled up to the white stately home in northern rural Iowa. I parked my car, unloaded my bag and pillow, and crunched through the leaves to the front porch. The porch was just how I had seen it last; to the right, a small iron table and chairs, along with an old antique brass pole lamp, and on the left, a flowered glider that I have spent many a summer afternoon on, swaying back and forth, just thinking.
Christmas is a happy time of the year were many people tell tale about the birth of Jesus, and to visit their families or friends in a warm house to see the white pale snow trilling down like the silver rain does throughout spring. On every christmas eve i sit down and ponder on the couch looking at the radiants lights danced off and on thinking about what am i getting on christmas, after enjoying some of the slice I carefully drink the sugary brown and white swirls spinning in unison. Also on christmas eve we often see the movie Polar Express, I look at the upbeat kids trying to understand the movie. At 4 in the morning my older brother always wake me up and tells me you wake up the burned out kids from their beds, after waking up the
“You’ll shoot your eye out kid, merry Christmas. Ho Ho Ho.” is probably one of the most popular lines of the 1983 Christmas classic, A Christmas Story, written by Jean Shepherd. According to The State Newspaper web site, “A Christmas Story is a low budget movie about a sort of dysfunctional family.” (Bryant) It is a dysfunctional tale about a nine year old boy named Ralphie growing up in 1940’s Indiana dreaming of the perfect Christmas gift, a Red Rider 200-shot Carbine Action Air Rifle. His parents, teacher and even Santa Clause believe otherwise. They all respond with “You’ll shoot your eye out!” Ralphie is determined to get his BB gun for Christmas. Along with the campaign for the BB gun, Ralphie and friends are typical kids. Each day from school they run away from a bully, Scott Farkus, a kid with “yellow eyes.” They even go as far as “triple dog daring” one of their best friends to stick his tongue to a frozen flag pole.
There I stood, waiting outside the bathroom door, listening carefully for the blow dryer to turn off. My sister was taking forever styling her hair for school, all while the clock was ticking down to the time when the bus would arrive. I knocked and knocked for her to let me in, but she pretended not to hear me over the loud buzz of the hair dryer. Finally she emerged, followed by a haze of steam, hairspray, and perfume. As I turned to grab my towel, my younger sister whizzed past me and slipped into the bathroom, locking the door behind her. I heard the shower turn on and once again, I was left waiting by the door. They say that family life is hardest for the middle child. Try being the only male sandwiched between two sisters who are set on making my life difficult. Growing up as the only boy has been very challenging, and I am surprised I have actually lived through it.
“The best way to spread Christmas cheer is singing loud for all to hear.” Buddy the Elf ’s quote rang true at the Runk and Pratt Senior Living Communities Christmas Celebration. With a group of eagle scholar freshman and sophomores, a bingo and craft event was held on a Sunday afternoon . After arriving in the prayer chapel, the room had to be rearranged in order to best fit the patrons and activities of the event.
Roman Holiday is a famous and important film for many reasons, probably most for introducing the world to the incomparable Audrey, here in her first major starring role, and one which won her an Academy Award. With lots chemistry, inspired direction by William Wyler, and impressive locale work, shot completely on location in Rome, this ranks as one of the best romantic comedies ever made.
Looking through a frosted window at fog and chimney smoke is the best. The only thing that could make it better is when snow is falling gracefully from the sky, powdering the ground below. That very scene is one of the reasons why I have come to love winter so much. Winter means freezing temperatures that allow you to sit by the fire with a cup of cocoa. Winter means family coming together. Winter means Christmas. Winter means my favorite time of the year has arrived.
People have celebrated a mid-winter festival since pre-historic times. They marked the beginning of longer hours of daylight with fires and ritual offerings. The Roman festival of Saturnalia -- a time for feasting and gambling -- lasted for weeks in December. Germanic tribes of Northern Europe also celebrated mid-winter with feasting, drinking and religious rituals.
It was a bright and warm summer morning when I woke from a good night sleep. Nothing prepared me for the dark, gloomy and sad day ahead of me. You see, this was the day that my cousin and childhood best friend passed away in an auto accident.
My most memorable Christmas is one from my past. I was about six years old. I clearly remember sitting in class on the last day of school before Christmas vacation anticipating the bell to ring and signify that the classes were finally over. As the bell rang, I ran out of that class, and once I got home I was ready in an instant to leave for my grandmother’s where I would spend my holidays. It was a two hour drive to my grandmother’s house. I was very impatient throughout the entire drive. I couldn’t wait to see my grandma, my cousin, and my aunts. To make things better, however, snow started to fall filling me with hopes of a snowball fight the next day.
As I walk in through the door, I begin to sense the feeling of warmth come over me. This is the feeling I get every time I arrive at my Grandpa's house in Price, Utah. It's where I spent the first five years of my life. This is my second home.