I seem to only write in this blog around the holidays. Perhaps it's because it's during these times, which should be so happy and filled with joy, that memories, both dark and light, spring to mind. Today was a long and lazy day. Fat snowflakes fell soft and cold only to melt as soon as they touched ground. I spent most of the day cleaning and wrapping presents. It's a day that I should have gone with Mike to his family Christmas party, but I just couldn't bring myself to go. I miss my sister so much during these times, it takes my breath away, and I'm forever on the verge of crying.
When we were younger, there was an intensity to our anticipation for this holiday -- we would call the time; we'd pick up the phone to call an automated voice speaking out the hour to the minute. At our house, we got to wake up at midnight to open up not just one, but all of our presents. It felt so decadent, to be up so late, and so joyous. The minute that voice said midnight, together, Julie and I would bound out of our room and race to rip the wrapping paper off of our presents. There we would sit satisfied and happy amid curls of festive paper and torn up cardboard.
Ah, Julie. You would have loved the holiday season in New England. The sky today was thick and gray and heavy as it released it's fat flakes. I walked outside to feel the crisp air on my skin, only to feel my cheeks tingle when I got back into my warm, snug house. Lights and decorations on the houses here make so much more sense, as they twinkle and warm up the cold dark winter evenings.
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