This past weekend, I started my holiday season early ... well, probably right on time, according to the money-grubbing, overly-materialistic Corporate America; the same Corporate American that is now brushing over Thanksgiving, in an effort to get the best bang for their hopeful buck.
Oops ... hmmm ... let me crawl off of my soap box for a moment before this rant becomes the blog, which was not my intention at all. Rather, this blog is a my way of traveling down memory lane, culling the recesses of my memory banks for those Christmases of my past.
If I sit really quietly, close my eyes, and concentrate, I can grab glimpses of those memories ... the smells ... the sounds ...
If I sit very quietly, I can almost hear those scratchy records I use to beg my mom and dad to play over and over on the record player ... the standards from Bing Crosby, Burl Ives, Doris Day, and the rest.
If I sit very quietly, I can almost hear my mom reading those precious Christmas books, her inflections still playing a movie in my mind.
If I sit very quietly, I can almost smell Christmas dinner mingled with vintage Christmas decorations in my Grandmother's house.
If I sit very quietly, I can almost feel the excitement I felt the night before Christmas, munching on green corn flake Christmas wreath cookies, just bursting with anticipation over what Santa might leave under the tree.
I think that is why I love VINTAGE so much ... it takes me back ... back to treasured memories of a simpler time ...
Walking through the antique stores this past weekend, while milling about with others in Shelbyville, Kentucky, I was once again transported to that little house on Bennett Street, to an idyllic childhood where anything was possible, and Christmas was filled with wonder and joy.
Don't get me wrong. Christmas is still filled with wonder and joy for me. It's just also surrounded by money woes and worldly ugliness and corporate greed ... and sometimes it's just hard to see past that to the importance of the season.
The entire reason we celebrate the season isn't for the sights or the smells or the gifts or the good cheer. Rather, it's a time to celebrate a small child, born in a cave meant for livestock, to a world awaiting his regal arrival. A pretty sparse arrival for some one so deserving of the royal treatment.
This year, I strive for a Vintage Christmas ... the one of my childhood ... the one that was filled with delight and wonder and anticipation, but completely centered around the Christ-child and His completely miraculous arrival on this Earth.
So, I begin with Thanksgiving ... feeling so grateful that He chose to come to Earth, in human form, for me ... and feeling so very grateful that I was born into a family that cherishes that ultimate gift.
And If I sit very quietly, I can still hear my Grandmother read from her worn Bible that most favorite of all Christmas stories ... the one, true Christmas story ... the story of Jesus' birth.