Make your own free website on

©December 2000

Carol Jane Remsburg



Christmas of Ago






Years and years ago, well, maybe not all that long ago by certain standards, a Christmas came.  Nearly twenty years ago it was.  I was newly married and had begun to see the world in a different view.


It wasn't Christmas day but one of those days that fell shortly afterwards before the New Year.  It was a Sunday and a light snow had fallen.  It wasn't quite cold enough to cover the roads and make driving hazardous, but it was just enough to bolster the spirits of the snow-starved.  Back then my husband was a shutterbug.  If it moved or it didn't, a snapshot was taken to endure for as long as the print did. 


That Sunday we left our little abode, all warm and cozy, to visit my mother's house for dinner.  It was a short drive and the welcoming was strong.  While I had made a home of my own, nothing else could pull me as strongly as this.  Dad would be found out in his workshop and Mother busy in the kitchen humming a tune as the pots bubbled atop the stove and the oven couldn't keep any secrets.  We visited and talked.  With dinner a few more hours away, Don and I took a walk about the neighborhood to look at the fresh snowfall.


We talked of inconsequential things while still feeling the newness of our married status as many promises went unsaid.  His camera clicked and whirred as we walked.  After a while it became too cold to stay outdoors any longer and we returned to the house. 


The door opened and the house seemed to hug us.  The aroma from the kitchen was a gift.  Mom was making a pork roast with sauerkraut/bacon/brown sugar, mashed potatoes, veges, and bread.  The promise of such a feast was enough to warm the coldest heart, hands, and feet.


Dad had come inside and settled into his chair with a book while Mom was still puttering about in the kitchen.  The tree was still decorated and the Christmas season was still in the air.


The day dimmed into dark but warmth and love seemed to rule the moment.  Even once away and driving home, the comfort lingered long enough to see us home. 


That type of comfort can't be distilled and sold in any shop.  It's love.  You only miss it when it's gone.  So don't be a Grinch this year, be a Santa.  The only gift you have to give is your love and light.  Set the world afire.


Back to Tidewater Tales