Eva @ A Striped Armchair
Heather @ Capricious Reader
Kay @ Dead Beat Darling
Shannon @ The Savvy Reader
I was as guilty as everyone else in my desire to pretend nothing was happening at Camp Nine, and with my first sight of an autumn leaf in October, I welcomed the thoughts of Christmas vacation that began creeping into my head. The reedy, echoing sound of a woodpecker indicated the thinning of the air that foretold coming holidays even before the landscape changed. These sight and sounds primed me to drift away from my lessons, down deep into a fantasy of the boxes Mother kept up the dark stairs in our gloomy attic, which was illuminated by a solitary four-paned window through which light barely filtered. While my teacher deadened my reality by scratching fractions on the chalkboard, my mind climbed the stairs with anticipation, searching among the dusty cardboard boxes stuffed with satin Hallowween costumes, baby toys, and clothes since discarded, until I found the holy grail of the season - the glittery glass ornaments and velvet skirt for our tree.
It seemed to snow more then than now, and, too young to appreciate the difficulty that accompanied the occasional dumping of heavy snow, I was always enchanted by it. Along with a welcome snowfall, Christmas was a time for special treats, like the multi-colored iced molasses cookies baked each morning by Mrs. Capps down the road and the oranges Mother ordered for me from New Orleans.
I can't help wonder what the equivalent to oranges is now? It is often said that the children of the past looked forward to an exotic treat each Christmas when they all got an orange.
No comments:
Post a Comment