I remember the year I was twelve. My Dad was driving us home from basketball practice on a cold day in January. It was almost dark outside and it seemed like there were more Christmas lights on than I had remembered the day before. I though for a second, maybe just a second, that it had all been a dream. Christmas, I mean. Maybe it had not come yet. Maybe this was the best part, right now. The anticipation, and the excitement of before Christmas.
I closed my eyes and decided that if the next house we passed had their Christmas lights on, that it had not come yet. I knew of course that it had, but thought maybe I would get lucky.
I always thought I would grow out of this sort of silly thing. Being so sad after Christmas, but I haven't.
We did so much these past few weeks. There was lots of playing in the snow, gathering with friends and family. Lots of eating, and so much baking. Knitting and movies, tea and long talks. Crazy, happy cousins running about.
Did I mention the eating?
Even thought there are no more cookies to deliver, or gifts to exchange, Christmas music on the radio, or a pretty tree in my living room,