I try to stay around the doors. That way I know I won’t miss them. Although I spend much of my time alarmed by bugs and leaves, I do crave affection and I try to get it every day. So I wait near the doors.
In the living room of the house in which I grew up there was a wood-burning fireplace surrounded by white bricks. Every December it was the center of all things Christmas. The armchair that stood year-round to the right of the fireplace was moved to make room for the Christmas tree, usually a six-footer with the pine aroma of the holiday.
My mother passed away last Friday, February 3. I don’t have a living mother anymore. I don’t know if that will ever feel like a normal statement.
Rummaging through a wonderful cardboard box full of family memorabilia, I came across a series of letters my grandmother wrote in researching for her brother
Actually I never heard the term Chrismukkah until today, when I searched for a good hashtag for Tweeting my latest Gray Matters article, Christmas for