Christmas has always meant going to our parents' house. And the weeks leading up to Christmas include breaking out the classic decorations we've been unpacking for twenty-five plus years: brown and olive skinned wise men figurines, mossy nativity scenes, porcelain candlestick holders that spell N-O-E-L.
This year I feel like I am starting to establish our own Christmas trimming traditions. A little more of the Babes In Toyland variety. Vintage candy tree ornaments, wooden popcorn and berries, lots of snowflakes and snowmen. Not so happy birthday Jesus... true. More like happy birthday Burl Ives or Willy Wonka.
I really love my little neighborhood at the holidays. Especially when it snows. Though in Oklahoma that usually doesn't happen until after Christmas. When you grow up in the suburbs built circa 1980, you kind of go ga-ga for houses of the 1930's variety.
Our neighbors (Mr. Scott and Mr. Ray who also go ga-ga for houses of the 1930's variety for other inherent reasons) have these awesome berry bushes that border our driveway. They look highly poisonous, thus irresistible. So I always want to eat one when I pass by. And perhaps also feed them to my children. Willy Wonka would approve. Burl Ives would sing. And maybe Jesus would still save us.