Years ago, when my brother and I were little, my parents packed up the car and drove us from Florida to New Jersey to spend Christmas with our Nana and Poppy. At that time, my grandparents still lived in the house my dad grew up in. And his mother, my Nana, before him. An old two story house on fourth street, in North Arlington, New Jersey. I remember it well. Dark wooden furniture, lots of small cozy rooms and a small eat-in kitchen that looked over a tiny backyard. The neighborhood was like so many in that part of the country. Tree-lined streets. Duel family homes. Two stories. Packed in tightly to one another and the families living inside, just as close. Very different from what I was used to in South Florida. Despite its urban location, and it's proximity to New York City, it had a small-town feel. Everyone knew each other by name.
Even though I didn't spend a lot of time there, that house became a part of me. I loved that house. And I loved that neighborhood.
Anyway, as I was saying before I got lost in remembering... we went there one year for Christmas. At Christmastime, the local fire station hosted Santa Claus. Touring the streets of North Arlington with Santa and his helpers. He would throw candy to the neighborhood kids and fill the air with his loud "Ho Ho Ho". Again, very different from anything my brother and I knew from Christmases where we lived. Unfortunately, I was too young at the time to remember that experience very clearly. The memory has faded, but it's significance has not. Because what I do know, what I've been told so many times, is how excited my mom was to see Santa on that fire engine. To see the lights and hear his laugh coming up the street. To be filled again with child-like wonder and to cherish her own children's sense of wonder and amazement at the sight. I've listened to her tell me so many times.
Child-like wonder...
So here's what I think about that. I think there are some who are lucky enough, who are blessed to never lose their sense of wonder. Who grow and change and move forward, but who still search for it and who still find it. It is magic. In the every day and especially at Christmastime. My mom is one of those people. Anyone who knows her knows that she is one of those people. And thanks to her (thank you, thank you, thank you), so am I.
On Monday, our street had a visitor too. Santa. Under twinkle lights and a big moon giving us their light, we waited. With pajama-clad neighbors and giddy children, we waited for Santa to come down our street. And he did. With lights and music and laughter. And for a moment that night, I was my mother. Filled with such wonder at the site of him and the expression on my sweet Little Bird's face. It truly was magic.
And on Thursday last week, in the spirit of magical, wonderful things, we headed to another neighborhood in Torrance to see their Christmas light display. This area is known for it and people come from all over to see this California wintery wonderland.
Of course our girl loved it.
Emerson and Heather.
Emerson seriously loves her "Heh Heh".
Man, I love Christmas.
Keep reaching Baby Girl. Keep reaching.
Merry, Merry Christmas family and friends. I hope yours is bright.
We're heading to NY on Tuesday, so it'll be quiet around here, I'm sure.
All my love and may this beautiful holiday be one that fills you with child-like wonder.
Keep reaching Baby Girl. Keep reaching.
Merry, Merry Christmas family and friends. I hope yours is bright.
We're heading to NY on Tuesday, so it'll be quiet around here, I'm sure.
All my love and may this beautiful holiday be one that fills you with child-like wonder.
