- Share This Post
- submit
- 0
-
Sparkle (0)
by Dr. Patricia Yarberry Allen
I loved making Christmas special when I was a young wife and mother. The trees could never be tall enough, the lifetime collection of ornaments, each with a story, could never be enough to decorate each year’s tree in order to fill my sons’ memory banks with joy. There was the Christmas when we lived in a townhouse on Madison Avenue. The parlor had heavy double wooden doors … just like in the Nutcracker.
I had invited close friends with two daughters to share our Christmas morning and brunch. The children were not allowed in the parlor for 36 hours before Christmas morning and the guests had been instructed to arrive early so that we could open our presents together. My husband and I had decorated the tree in secret, all 12 feet of it. There were Christmas red amaryllis on the mantle, a fire in the fireplace and secreted away that morning: a string quartet.
Two boys, ages seven and two and a half, could not wait until the heavy doors were opened. The music began, the fragrance of the tree and the snap and warmth of the fire, the piles of presents and a Christmas of memories greeted them as they gasped in wonder. One for Hollywood and Mama.
