|Painting by Spanish artist, Dino Valls.|
Even before Thanksgiving the fidgeting part of my brain started making trouble. It decided the only thing that would feel like the Christmas it thought it needed was to have it be 1958 again. I could be 13, my 8-year-old sister and I could ride the bus downtown to shop at the dime stores, then have cokes and grilled cheese sandwiches for lunch at Woolworth's counter. Even though I'd be past the age of actually, actually believing in Santa, I would still be years away from being able to sleep through the night on Christmas eve.
|Not the Pasadena Woolworth's, this was downtown L.A., "longest lunch counter in the world."|
|Painting by Amanda Blake.|
We all become confused at times, forgetting that nothing is ever really as much about what we receive as what we give. Seeing familiar and difficult dates cycle back to us on the calendar does not mean they will batter us anew. That I am not 13 is no impediment to glimpsing, sensing the magic I've always connected to these days when night falls early and the nostalgic glow of Christmas lights (I could never decide which was my favorite color) keeps warm the dreams in our child hearts.