Red Room Where the Writers Are

And Christmas was truly a Holy Christmas, as every year my dad would freshly paint the house inside and added his talented artistic creations of holiday festivities that it truly looked like a hallmark card along with so many children, bicycles, dolls and toy trucks around the Christmas tree. I will never forget the smell of the tree, mom cooking abundant meals; and the smell of homemade baked Italian cookies. There would be toys all over the place that sometimes there was hardly any room to walk. And not because we were given so many gifts, but with so many small children, the one gift each of us received filled the room with the vision of the wondrous joy of toys. And the Christmas tree falling over due to all the children’s excitement and running around the house. The joyful memories of the smaller children happily playing with the one toy they got from Santa Clause, and truly appreciating their gift. I especially remember one year, my 5 younger brothers just a year apart, getting their first play Jungle Jim combat suits. And with all five of them dressed exactly alike; they looked like members of the Military Academy in our home, but only with running and playing and laughing amongst themselves. I truly enjoyed blessed Christmases that would serve me my entire life of the love that emerged through every action from the heart of our parents.  Is a vision of joy that remains from my childhood…" when we choose to remember through a grateful heart ".

“A big orange and some fresh pine boughs and 'Silent Night' are all I need, and cookies, of course. They are the strings that when I pull on them I pull up the complete glittering storybook Christmases of my childhood.” —Garrison Keillor