It was a full pre-Christmas weekend indeed and a sad goodbye to a dear friend who has packed her satchel and headed to explore the green pastures, or rather So So Def pastures, of Hotlanta. Another night on the “Oasis”, yet this time accompanied by the tune of a rumbling fire on the outdoor fireplace and a fierce game of catch phrase. Seriously, it was fierce. The spread wasn’t too shabby either. I can tell this story only partly through pictures. The elusive Hastings was not cooperating with the camera.
At 1 am, we kissed and gave our “see you later’s” dodging the bitter sting that goodbyes seem to have. Exhausted, I pulled down the covers of our lofty bed and crawled in. Snug as a bug in a rug. Then in the dark silence I laid and wondered What makes this place our home?. If it came down to it (and we had a choice), would we leave for a job or are we shackled to this place by love. There is no doubt in my mind that if my family weren’t here, I would have never come back to this flat place. The mountains have always seemed to beckon me to come play in their rugged valleys. Growing up in Florida somehow makes you take for granted all of the wonderful things it’s hot sandy surface has to offer, and I know I would miss it if I had the opportunity. But, I’m here, we’re here. And because of all that we have come to know and love over the past few years in this big kids world, it would tear my heart imagining having to leave.
We are especially thankful this holiday for our family and our friends that give our lives here such meaning and purpose. We’re thankful you allow us to share in your days, your joys and your stresses, your celebrations and your struggles, your friendships and love. To me, these relationships are the true gift of Christmas. To quote the conductor, “Seeing is believing, but sometimes the most real things in the world are the things we can’t see.”
My little craft project for presents this year is complete. Spice jars that even Martha would be proud of. I hope they’re enjoyed.
The chocolates have been savored. Some evenings more than one were plucked from the perforated cardboard flaps in an attempt to play catch up of missed days of holiday dizmal. They lay in our hands as we intently examine each before proclaiming our best guess at the odd shapes, “A French Horn!”. It’s proudly held up for the others affirmation and then, it’s eaten. The advent calendar tells no lies, Christmas is here.
I warned you it was coming. I hope this Christmas you’re getting to say more hello’s than goodbyes, and by far, that it’s the merriest. Hastings, we’ll see you later. Until then, you’ll be dearly missed.
Suggested Listening: Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas / Relient K
