Christmas's of Old

It's that time of year again,

When carols fill the air.

And masses spill out of store faces.

Bank accounts dip like the weather.

As worry lines appear on empty faces.

Try to justify their expenses.

It's that time of year again.

When I miss the comforts of a place.

That is no longer my home.

Of a cookie book cracking at the seam,

And the smell of ginger and orange.

Pulling out handmade tree decorations,

and finding favorite holiday dishes.

When mum made Christmas baubles float in the halls.

And Dad belly laughed at Christmas films.

Seeing red and green as the primary colors.

And blue and silver after Christmas night.

When cookies were still eaten by Santa,

and I swear I could hear his sleigh bells in one of our vents.

The time I would get new Jammies on the eve,

and usually sweat to death in fleecy sleeves.

But would giggle with glee,

to see the new style or print.

When reading "The Night before Christmas"

Made me feel so grown up.

Yet I still felt like a child,

longing to stay up all night and catch Santa Claus.

When I'd fall asleep for a few hours,

And bolt awake hoping it was eight.

Only to put on fuzzy socks at four,

And tip toe out the door.

Believing my parents would never know I was out of bed

Snooping through my stocking.

And rushing back to bed when Dad's snores fell dead.

How when it was finally time,

I would rally a battle cry.

And rush into their room.

Jumping and bagging for them to arise.

So I could finally rip out the toys,

I'd been dying to play with all night.

Struggle through fat bows that sometimes needed scissors.

And pulling of decorated paper.

How wonderful Christmas felt.

When I was small.

When school felt like it was out forever.

And the cold snow, wasn't so bad.

And well I smile on Christmas these days,

Gently folding the wrappings.

And am glad for so many boxes under the tree.

I miss the hidden child like glee.

The dinners at grandma's

And the feeling of having way too many sweets.

But Christmas has changed.

And yet some of its the same.

And as this year passes

I will raise coffee glasses.

Filled with creamy liquor and roosted beans,

And toast to the Christmas of old.

From the present,

And onward to the future.