Christmas pasts

A dense low sky hung over Austin.  Icecicles sparkled from wires, tree branches, cactus nettles.  It was unusually cold.

I spent most of my days unpacking wedding gifts and attempting dishes like Marchand Du Vin.  Having barely settled into our new apartment from our honeymoon, going back east for Christmas was not feasible.    So we braved black ice and frozen armadillos and set out to find a Christmas tree.  We had ten ornaments.  Fortunately, misletoe and rosemary grow plentifully in South Central Texas, so I decorated herbally.

It was the first Christmas either of us had spent away from our parents.  It almost seemed taboo.  We drank champagne and ate citrus infused turkey.  We gave extravagant presents and skipped church.

When all of the candles had burned low, we retired.  Then as I lay in the moonlit room, I listened for Tim's breathing, as I held my own breath... knowing of course, that I didn't deserve such happiness,  and surely it would be taken away from me.

We have spent twelve Christmases together, twelve treasured seasons.  Some have been shared with parents, Gran and Grandaddy, and once we even stayed in our house with Teddy and Annelise, creating our own traditions.

Still, when all is quiet, after stockings and the rustling of wrapping paper, the meal and the satiated nap, when the last ember of the Yule log has burned low and everyone is under covers, I write our "memories" down, afraid that if such good luck is not acknowledged, it will turn bad.