Monday, December 15, 2008
Early in my dad's time at Nevada, we lived in town. We lived in a big white house with long stairs to the second floor.
One of my most vivid Christmas memories was slipping down the stairs one Christmas eve and peeking around the corner to watch my mom and dad, along with a favorite uncle, set up a farm scene I had wanted for Christmas.
That memory is like a lot of memories. It can't be exactly correct. I can't visualize what my uncle would have been doing there on Christmas eve. It must have been some other time, but I transported it to Christmas.
My uncle was an excellent farmer who lived hundreds of miles away. He had his own daughter. He and his wife (my mother's sister) would surely have been home on Christmas. But that's what I remember.
Good memories, even if they can't be exactly true, bring us all a little spark of joy.
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