Memories of Christmas Days gone by:
Going to grandma Toots and Grandpa Ken’s for Christmas Day up until they just couldn’t do it anymore.
Memories of my favorite aunts that gave me a sense of humor and my uncles that made me trust men.
Memories of happy family while we still laughed at each other and didn’t take ourselves seriously.
Memories of the kids freezing outside on the porch while the grown ups sat in the (way too warm) house.
Playing pool in the garage, laughing with grandpa Ken, playing board games and staying up past bedtime….getting the unheard of privilege of staying awake with the grown ups and knowing how it might change your whole world. 🙂 yes, I remember everything–except what I had for breakfast. This is why I write.
Memories of grandparents that shaped me and taught me to love; memories of this day and everything it used to be; memories of how those who’ve passed on are still with me; and memories of those who are still here and yet, don’t speak to one another. Just because they’re gone doesn’t mean your family is gone. Somebody has to hold it together. We are blood. We are alive. We should remain current and not just be memories.