…please please please?”
Most of the Christmases that I have experienced have been while I was in Maine. It follows that most of them were snowy, perfect Christmases draped in white fluff with snowmen and sleighbells and forts and warm coats and mittens and snow crowned mangers and Marys and angels and church steeples. Most of them. But not all.
One Christmas we went to Ohio to visit Dad’s mother, Gram. She was in a nursing home at the time, and it meant quite a bit to Dad for us to go. She was just starting to battle alzheimer’s then, so I’m not sure that she even knew we were there from minute to minute. But, it was important to dad, so we went.
Not to put too fine a point on it (and not to take away from the selfless act of going to OHIO over CHRISTMAS to be with your ailing grandmother) but wow – that trip sucked. Everything in Ohio was gray and brown. No snow. It was, like, 50 degrees. We stayed in a hotel that overlooked a cliff wall (from the bottom, not the scenic top) all by ourselves. We swam in their indoor pool all by ourselves. I think that there was maybe one maid working. It took hours to get towels. We only brought a few presents along with us in the car (yes, we drove) so we didn’t even have a proper Christmas morning. Ew.
On the drive home (16 hours) it was very quiet. Everyone was stewing in their own thoughts. My mother broke the silence only to say:
Where the Tree-tops glisten…
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