I cherished the Christmas season as I grew up in Cadillac. I remember walking downtown with my sisters to shop with the meager spending money we earned from babysitting, shoveling, or raking leaves for the neighbors. A local bank would offer free hot cider and donuts on the downtown sidewalk, and Christmas music played continuously as snowflakes gathered on Grandma’s handmade knitted hats. We couldn’t afford much, but we loved to walk around the shops and dream about presents we might give to our family.

Mom would bake Christmas cookies and my sisters and I would try to sneak them out of the cookie exchange stash. My mother had some uncanny radar that apparently allowed her to hear Tupperware open from the opposite end of the house. (Perhaps this was the only time we weren’t making any sound, and that’s what tipped her off!)

On three lucky occasions prior to my high school years, my parents took us out to Denver to stay with my aunt for Christmas. We piled into the gigantic family Delta 88, (recalling the classic B-52’s song lyric, “… and it’s as big as a whale!”) to battle Nebraska blizzards and ice storms with our skis strapped to the car top. We would make a daily drive up into the Rockies and ski until the lifts stopped. No doubt these early experiences infected me with the desire to return to the mountains whenever I get the chance.

Christmas in my home wasn’t about gifts and things. I was, instead, blessed by a family who cared deeply about, and spent time with, one another; and we laughed a lot in the process. We wrapped presents, decorated the tree, listened to Christmas music, baked lots of cookies and did puzzles. We gave of each other and to each other, and so learned the meaning of Christmas. I hope your Christmas is filled with joy, and the spirit of giving.