19: The world, in solemn stillness, lay to hear the angels sing...

Sometimes I will pose thought-provoking questions to myself. Like, "If you could hop on a flight to anywhere in the world right now, where would you go?" or "Erin, why did you eat so much?"

One of my favorites that I like to ask myself and other people is, "If you could time-travel to any moment in history, which would you choose?" I have a hard time settling on just one answer, but always in my top 5 is the night of Christ's birth. I envy the shepherds who were able to listen to the angel of the Lord bringing them "good tidings of great joy" and hear the heavenly hosts proclaiming "Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men." I would love to know how that angelic choir sounded.

I think Handel may have felt the same way, and his Messiah oratorio probably comes closer than any other music out there in recreating those joyous strains. The first time I went to a Messiah sing along was my sophomore year in college. The second time was two nights ago with my mom and Dallin. We went to the annual performance held at the Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts in DC. We were in line for 2 1/2 hours in the cold, but it was worth the wait. It was amazing to sing the Hallelujah chorus with 2,000+ other people. At one point, the conductor told the audience "Whether or not you are a believer, it is still one of the greatest stories ever told."

During the intermission, I wanted to go over some of the choral parts that were coming up in the second half, so I started digging around through my purse. Dallin asked what I was looking for. "My tuning fork," was my answer. "Really, you carry a tuning fork in your purse?" It was only then it occurred to me that a tuning fork might be an odd thing to carry in your purse. Dallin, you didn't marry a history, engineering, or exercise science major. You married a music major--deal with it.

18: It doesn't show signs of stopping...

It's the most wonderful time of the year, but it's also the busiest. I should have thought about this when I committed to blogging for 25 days straight, especially given my blogging track record in general. Nevertheless, I still have a few Christmas memories left to share...
Four years ago during my senior year at BYU, the plan was to fly home for the Christmas holidays on the 23rd. My mom works for Continental airlines, and I usually flew standby on flights thanks to her job benefits. While this saved us bundles of money on airfare, we were always at the mercy of the flight loads. Most of the time I was getting up at 3 or 4 in the morning to catch an early flight that no one else wanted to fly on.

This particular year a terrible blizzard hit Denver and wreaked havoc on all of the flight schedules in the Western part of the country. People on cancelled flights were rolled over to the next available one, and it didn't bode well for me and my chances of getting out of Salt Lake the day as planned. Sure enough, I spent the 23rd and Christmas Eve sitting in the airport watching as plane after plane took off with every seat taken and no room for me.

I took a shuttle back to my apartment late in the afternoon on Christmas Eve. All of my roommates had gone home, and I felt like I was the only one left on 7th East just south of campus. I did laundry. I cleaned. I called home and whined about how lonely I was. My brother was still in Provo. He had planned all along to fly out on Christmas, and it occurred to me later that evening that maybe we could spend Christmas Eve together. We were brother and sister, after all, and we kind of liked each other, right? So I bundled up and walked over to his place--a good 2 miles in sub-freezing temperatures (why didn't I call and have him come pick me up? I don't know.) We watched Arrested Development the whole night, and I think we ended up eating hamburgers for dinner or something...

17: It's Christmas time in the city...

Caroling is fun. It's kind of corny and can be a little awkward at times, but it's still fun. It definitely is an easy way to get me in the Christmas spirit. The best way to spread Christmas cheer is singing loud for all to hear, right?

My favorite caroling experience happened in 2004 when I went to NYC to visit friends between finishing finals and heading home for Christmas. On one of the nights of my visit, we sang Christmas carols on the corner outside of the LDS Temple along with probably 50 or 60 other young LDS adults who lived in the city. Our conductor was getting a DMA in Conducting at The Juilliard School and was incredibly enthusiastic. He was bouncing all over the place. His expressions changed constantly as he tried to mirror in his face what he wanted to hear coming out of our voices. It may have been comical except that it also worked. We sounded terrific, and people were noticing.

The Manhattan Temple sits across from Lincoln Center and the Juilliard School, and there's a large amount of foot traffic in that area. Many walked by us a little slower to catch a few lines and then continued on. Some actually stopped to listen to a few songs. There were others who stopped and sang with us and even some who danced and bounced around with the conductor. All of the passersby wore smiles on their faces and were universally cheerful in a way that can only be attributed to this wonderful time of year.

As we sang both sacred and secular carols, there was one in particular that seemed to have been written for the exact setting that I found myself in. I think everyone else there was aware of this, too, because it seemed as if we sang with added enthusiasm:

City sidewalks, busy sidewalks
Dressed in holiday style
in the air there's a feeling of Christmas.
Children laughing, people passing,
meeting smile after smile
and on every street corner, you'll hear

Silver bells silver bells
It's Christmas time in the city
Ring a ling hear them sing
Soon it will be Christmas day

Strings of street lights
Even stop lights
Blink a bright red and green
As the shoppers rush
home with their treasures

Hear the snow crunch
See the kids bunch
This is Santa's big scene
And above all this bustle
You'll hear

Silver bells, silver bells
It's Christmas time in the city
Ring-a-ling, hear them sing
Soon it will be Christmas day

Dallin and I are catching a bus tonight up to NYC to spend the weekend with dear friends and looking forward to creating more Christmas memories in the city.

15, 16: Memories from 3rd Grade...

Dallin's dad was in DC recently for work, and he brought us a box that we had accidentally left behind when we moved this past summer. It contained mostly old journals and childhood mementos of mine. I've read through some of my old high school journals these past few days. Most of the entries have been filling me with self-loathing. I also read through a collection of essays I wrote in 3rd grade. I thought I'd share some of them here as part of my Christmas memories...

15: York Convalescence Center
"On December 3 we went on a field trip to York Convalescence Center. We sang to the old people. We sang Christmas songs. All the thierd graders sang two songs. The old people liked it. One of the songs were in sighn language (note: I could spell 'convalescence', but I couldn't spell 'third' and 'sign'?) for the deaf people. We sang Christmas songs because it was almost Christmas, and the old people don't get much of Christmas. I hope they will have a merry Christmas."

I hope "the old people" will forgive my 3rd grade ignorance and lack of tact...and I still hope they will have a Merry Christmas :)

16: Christmas At My House
"On Christmas morning 1993, my brother and me woke up early to see our presents. I saw a big present. I looked at it very close. It said ERIN. I couldn't wait to open it. We saw lots of presents. Then we looked in our stockings. After that my parents came down. Mom said we could open our presents. First we opened our stockings. Then we opened our presents. I got a keyboard. It was my favrite gift. My brothers gave it to me. I played a little songs after I opened it. I let my brother play with it. He liked it too. I like to play songs on it. It came with three books. I like this present best because I can learn how to play and I like music. It even plays songs like Silent Night or Deck the Halls. I love my new keyboard. You can even put diffrent instruments on like the harp or the flute. My keyboard is really fun. I got lots more stuff. Then we went to our cousins house in North Carolina. It was fun."

Ok, so I wasn't anything like Tiny Tim as a child. I cared a lot about presents. My keyboard still remains one of my favorite presents to this day. I love playing the piano, and I can give full credit to that keyboard for sparking my interest. Thanks, Eric and Jeremy.

14: And the children say he could laugh and play...

I remember the first time I built a snowman. I was probably around five years old, and my dad helped me.

Even when building a snowman, my dad took a very analytic approach. Any time we embarked on a new experience, there was the requisite preparatory briefing---no doubt a byproduct of his military career--and snowmen were no exception. I don't remember exactly, but I'm sure it went something like, "Now Erin, the key to building a good snowman is to keep the snow compact"...."it's important that you start with a good foundation on a level surface"...."we want to make sure that the three snowballs are proportionate to each other with an approximate size ratio being...." (I stopped there because I have no idea what the ratio would be! "What's a battle?")

At this point, I'd be looking up at my dad with my eyes glazed over, my mouth hanging open slightly, probably thinking about ponies, until he'd give the go ahead to start. I immediately awoke from my stupor and began to gather snow. I remember it being slow-going at first, mostly because my dad would have to repeat all of the tips from his briefing. (I promise that as I got older I learned to listen better because, in spite of my teasing and eye-rolling whenever my dad started up, I knew he was always right)

Once we had our snowman formed, it was time for the fun stuff. My dad went inside in search of accessories while I hunted around for sticks and "very small rocks" (there's a Monty Python quote for all scenarios). We used buttons for his eyes, rocks for the mouth, and a carrot for his nose. We tied a scarf around his neck and attached sticks for arms. I really wanted to give him a top-hat--after all, it's what brought Frosty to life!---but how many people own a top hat? I decided that a knitted cap was an acceptable alternative, and our snowman was complete. It may have been one of the proudest moments in all of my five years.

The rest of the day I was consumed by the idea of my snowman coming to life. I would sneak peaks out the window to check on him. Sometimes I would hide at the corner of our apartment building and quickly poke my head around, trying to catch my snowman off guard. I'd go and eye the distance he was from the building to see if he had moved at all. A few days later, he melted in the exact same spot where he had been raised. It may have been one of the saddest moments in all of my five years...

10,11,12: Christmas Sketches

I promise I haven't forgotten my memories. This past weekend was just busier than usual, and I didn't find time to post anything. To make up for the missed days, I present to you some Christmas vignettes and resolve to get back on track this week...

10: It's fun to see the houses decorated for Christmas. Some years my family would go driving through neighborhoods just to "Ooh and aah" at all the Christmas lights. I loved admiring (sometimes criticising) the different styles and approaches to decorating as we made our way down the streets. I think I personally prefer the less-is-more approach to Christmas decorations. When we lived in Virginia, my mom would set a single candle in each window of our colonial-style house, and I absolutely loved it. I loved the simple elegance of it. When we would pull in to our driveway at night, those little lights glowing in the windows made the house look so inviting and peaceful. Now that I'm back in Virginia, I realize that my mom may have been inspired by the regional trends because there are so many houses around here with windows lit by these Christmas candles.

11: Common stocking stuffers in the Speight/Lopez family included Coca Cola Gummy Bears and Ritter Sport Chocolate bars--Ritter Sport's factories are located right outside of...surprise!..Stuttgart, Germany! Also usually found were your everyday hygiene/toiletry items...razors, lotions, hair-ties (or scrunchies if we're talking mid-90s). My sister, Katie, had a Beanie Baby phase, and Santa put a few of those in her stocking one year. What I love about our stockings particularly was that they were all knit by my Grandma Jean. She used knitting patterns that she learned from close family friends, the Affeltrangers, while living in Panama. Whenever I visited any of their homes around Christmas time while I was in college, I would see the same stockings hanging from their fireplaces and get excited to be home for Christmas.
12: I don't think I have EVER enjoyed waiting in line to see Santa. The copious amounts of photos with children crying their eyes out as they sit in Santa's lap (including one of my husband) is evidence that I'm not the only one. I think I simply liked believing. I always felt nervous waiting in line as my turn came closer. I didn't want to SEE or have my parents sit me down on the lap of some stranger whose beard was taking up my entire field of vision. Strange? I much preferred writing a letter, addressing it to the North Pole, and sticking it in the mail. Reindeer are a different story. I would LOVE to see a reindeer.

9: It's too early. I never eat December snowflakes.

I love A Charlie Brown Christmas. Really, who doesn't?
I love watching it every year including a few days ago while Dallin and I put up our tree. I love Snoopy decorating his dog house for the Christmas decorations contest, and I always giggle when he dances on top of the piano. I love when they discuss the ripeness of snowflakes. I get misty-eyed when Linus quotes those sacred verses from Luke all alone on that stage---telling us what Christmas is really all about. I love, love, love the music! Listening to it, playing it on the piano, or dancing to it, I love it. My brother and I like to mimic the different Peanuts characters' dance moves during the dance scene to "Linus and Lucy" (they're harder than they look!)




I know that this is a beloved tradition for so many of us. I read this great article about the making of A Charlie Brown Christmas in the Washington Post and thought I'd post the link here.

http://voices.washingtonpost.com/comic-riffs/2010/12/post_17.html?hpid=artslot


Merry Christmas, Charlie Brown!

8:The sturdy kind that doesn't mind the snow...

When we lived in Stuttgart, (another Germany memory, I know--I think it's because they're my earliest and I naturally tend towards chronological order?) the military base would organize a Christmas tree expedition every year. I say 'expedition' because from my recollection, we (the army families living on base) went in a sort of caravan to some trail head, got out and went our own separate ways into the forest in search of a Christmas tree---in reality, I'm sure it was probably just some choose and cut tree farm, but I'll let my memory romanticize it.

I remember roaming around the woods, following my dad in whichever direction he set out in. As aimless as our wandering seemed, I didn't worry about getting lost--that's what dads are for, right? I wish I could post some of the pictures we have from these expeditions, but they are all tucked away in family albums in Texas. They show my dad, Eric, and me standing in the middle of the woods in the snow (up to my knees), my dad holding a big ax. In between us stood the tree we had finally selected after an intense vetting process conducted by the three of us.

After this picture is taken, the hacking begins. It was exciting at first to watch my dad chopping away like Paul Bunyan, but after a while I remember feeling impatient to get the tree back to our apartment to decorate and, more importantly, put presents under. Once the felling of the mighty tree was complete, we hauled it back to the trail head where a trailor was waiting to transport the trees safely back to base.

As I watched all the other families load their trees in, too, I began to worry. "How were we supposed to know which tree was ours when we unloaded them?" I kept thinking to myself. But again, these kinds of worries are best left up to grownups, and I decided that mom and dad would know which tree was ours. Still, I think I remember warning my dad that some of the other families might try to take our tree once they saw it (ours was obviously the best), and he should make sure to keep a close eye while they unloaded.

It was only until the tree was set up in our living room and decorated in all of its Christmas glory that I began to rest easy from my suspicions of tree sabotage.

7: Baby, All I want for Christmas is yooouuuuu

When I was about 8 years old, I was obsessed with MTV. Does that sound terrible? Let me explain! This was when MTV was strictly music videos, and it's my brothers' fault! That's my explanation.

The reason I loved MTV so much also had to do with who my favorite artists were around this time: Michael Jackson and Mariah Carey. The channel was inundated with their music videos. Mariah Carey was entering the heyday of her career, and the videos for "Dreamlover" and "Hero" were playing every other second.

When it was announced that Mariah Carey would be releasing a Christmas album in 1994, it immediately lodged itself at the top of my Christmas wish list. In fact, I wanted this album so much that it blinded me to anything else I might have wanted. When my parents would ask, "Erin Jo, what do you want for Christmas this year?" I'd answer without even blinking "the Mariah Carey Christmas CD"...."Is there anything else you want?"....."Duuuhhh....I don't know"

A few days before Christmas I remember my dad coming in the house singing a Christmas song. He stopped and was silent for a moment. "How come we don't have any Christmas music playing?" he asked. He looked over at me, and I just shrugged my shoulders. Then he got this look in his eyes, which I can and will only describe as a "twinkle", as he called to my mom in another room, "Margie, I think we should let Erin open one of her Christmas presents a few days early!" I think they probably regretted this decision later on after hearing that album play nonstop until New Year's.

Fortunately for everyone, my love for Mariah faded long before "Glitter" came out.

6: Jolly Old Saint Nikolaus

The Germans really know how to do Christmas. I've already mentioned the Advent calendars, but they also have these incredible Christmas markets that we loved going to as a family. I remember at one of these markets, my mom bought me a cup of hot cider that came in a beautiful crystal glass with a slender handle. Engraved on the glass was a picture of the Christmas market there in Stuttgart, Germany. (Mom, do you still have those glasses?) It took me forever to drink the cider because I kept admiring the image in between sips.
I think my favorite tradition that we adopted during the time we lived in Germany was the celebration of St. Nikolaus Day! St. Nikolaus Day is celebrated on December 6th in Germany as well as in other European countries. On the evening before the 6th, children place their newly cleaned shoes in front of the door in the hope that Nikolaus might fill them with sweets. If the children have behaved well, their wishes will be fulfilled. Children who have misbehaved will receive only sticks and twigs.

St. Nikolaus Day helped relieve some of the agony I felt as a child waiting for Christmas to come. (It's funny how now I wish the month of December would just slow down!) I remember excitedly placing my shoes outside my bedroom door before I went to sleep and waking up to find them filled with sweets and goodies indicating that St. Nikolaus had indeed visited our house. I would look over at my brothers' shoes, dismayed to see candy in theirs as well, instead of sticks.

5: Love's pure light...

In a little bit, Dallin and I are going to listen to the broadcast of the First Presidency Christmas Devotional. I think it's safe to declare this devotional as one of the favorite traditions of the Christmas season for members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. It's an annual devotional always held on the first Sunday of December at the Conference Center in Salt Lake City where the head leaders of the LDS church share messages of Christ and of this season when we celebrate His birth. Along with these messages, the Mormon Tabernacle Choir and Orchestra at Temple Square perform Christmas music throughout the devotional.

While I was attending BYU, I had the opportunity to go to a couple of these devotionals. The last one I attended was in December of 2006. My dad, mom, and sister had flown up from Texas to go to it with me, my brother, and Dallin (Dallin's sister, Melissa, was wonderful to get us that many tickets.)

Dallin and I had just recently got engaged, so I was already feeling pretty euphoric. We had great seats, and the conference center's beautiful decorations along with the beautiful words and music seemed to radiate a peace and warmth to all in attendance. I remember looking down the row at the faces of my family, my parents at the end holding hands. The choir began to sing Silent Night--and the swelling chords and holy words of that hymn resonated in my heart.

This sweet memory from that devotional has become all the more poignant and sacred to me in the years that have followed---years marked by illness and loss. I think of those perfect moments spent with my dear family and feel so much joy in the birth of the Savior and all that it signifies---that He was "born to raise the sons of Earth, born to give them second birth." I look forward with hope to the day when my family will all be together again.

4: Performance Anxiety

I have been playing the flute for almost 15 years now. I have struggled with a bad case of stage fright for almost 15 years now, too. Performance anxiety is something every musician has to deal with, but usually there comes a point where, after innumerable concerts and solos and recitals, this anxiety is eventually overcome or at least decreased in severity.

I am still waiting for this to happen to me.

During the Christmas season of my senior year in high school, I was slated to perform a flute solo as part of a Christmas Musical Program that my stake put on annually. A 'stake' is used by the Mormon church as a collective term for all the LDS congregations in a geographical region. The Corpus Christi stake consists of around 10 or 11 congregations, so this program was presented to a fairly large audience.

The night of the performance came, and I was in my usual state of nervous anticipation as I sat waiting for my turn to perform. I kept taking in deep breaths, exhaling slowly. I was rubbing my hands together to keep them from sweating. When the time came for my musical number, I climbed the few steps up to the stage and laid my music on the stand. The venue was incredibly dark aside from the bright spotlight that was shining on me--so bright in fact that as I looked out, I couldn't even see the hundreds of people that would be listening, which in a way helped calm my nerves. My solo started, and though I'm sure those sitting in the first few rows could see my shaking fingers, I managed to play perfectly fine to the end of the song. When it was over, I mentally said a prayer of gratitude and began to exit the stage.

At this point, the glaring spotlight turned off, leaving me in utter darkness right as I was about to make my way down the three or four steps off the stage. I missed a step and abruptly fell flat on my face with a loud thud that seemed to reverberate throughout the entire hall. As I lay there sprawled on the floor, a little dazed, my mind kept telling me that I should be feeling really embarrassed in that moment. I think if it had happened in any other circumstance, I would have felt extremely so. But I was still so thankful for not botching my performance that all I could think, as I picked myself up off the floor and smoothed my dress out, was "Meh, I can live with this."

3: Tasty Traditions

I cannot think of many Christmas traditions that have lasted more than a few years in my family. I think we enjoyed changing it up every year. The words "We have to do [insert whatever] because it's tradition" were never really common in our house around the holidays. We'd have changing Christmas dinner menus--one year turkey, another year stuffed pork chops, then maybe a London broil (Dad made it up so tasty!) Some years we would have a family program on Christmas Eve, others not. It's fun to go see a movie on Christmas day, but I don't think we ever felt tied to it by a sense of traditional duty. Some of you in my family may disagree with these thoughts on tradition (or lack thereof), but it's not your blog.....so there! (as she sticks her tongue out).One tradition that stayed constant and secure was my mom's poppy seed bread. Every year she baked countless loaves of it for friends, neighbors, and teachers. I sometimes would serve as her baking assistant. My duties included wrapping the bread in tin foil and tying a red piece of yarn or ribbon around each of them. Probably the job I took most seriously, though, was licking the left-over batter from her mixing bowl once the baking was done for the day. I've continued this tradition since I've been married and given loaves to co-workers and neighbors. Along with baking more this year, I'm sharing this delicious recipe here. WARNING: It will make you fat.

Ingredients

3 Cups flour
3 eggs
1 1/2 Cups oil
1 1/2 Cups milk
1 1/4 Cups sugar
1 1/2 tsp salt
1 1/2 tsp baking powder
1 1/2 tsp almond flavor
1 1/2 tsp vanilla
1 1/2 tsp butter flaver
1 1/2 TBS poppy seed

Mix all ingredients in a large bowl for 2 minutes
Pour mixture into 3-5 small baking tins
Bake at 350 degrees for 50-60 mins

2: When it snows, ain't it thrilling?

When you're a kid, snow is always magical, but never so much as when it comes on a school day. I remember rushing downstairs with my siblings the mornings of prospective snow days to find my mom already waiting in the kitchen with the radio on. A voice could be heard reading off a list of schools that were closed for the day, but I would only have ears for one in particular. Once we heard the blessed name that secured our freedom, we'd jump up and down, run around the house, joyously shout, start hyperventilating, and then collapse on the living room floor. After sufficient recovery, we'd be out the door, ready for the requisite "play" that lasted the rest of the day.

Before moving west to enjoy the mild winters of south Texas, the Speight/Lopez kids passed numerous holiday seasons in snow-filled... bliss? Maybe bliss isn't the right word for my brothers--perhaps 'warfare' is more appropriate. I remember Eric and Jeremy would construct these elaborate snow forts (at least to my eyes) and then defend them from their neighborhood enemies through fierce snowball fights. I was usually excluded from these battles after much whining and pleading on my part. My brothers had an arsenal of reasons for this exclusion, "You're too little"..."the fort's not big enough"..."we throw too hard," but the excuse that trumped all and would finally send me away was simply "NO GIRLS ALLOWED." Unlike the others, I couldn't argue with this reason because as much as I may have resented it at the time, I knew I was, in fact, a girl.

So I would leave, condemned to making snow angels or sledding with other girls who had been cast off by their older brothers. It's hard to stay embittered on a snow day, though, and my sorrows were soon forgotten in the fun diversion of these "girlish" enterprises.

Probably one of my favorite parts of a snow day was coming home at the end of it. We would be flushed and exhausted as we came through the door. The cold that I had felt impervious to all day now seemed to penetrate every part of my body. My mom was always there to help me out of my wet socks and clothes and give me a warm set and blanket to wrap up in. My dad would have a fire going and fix cups of hot chocolate for us to drink as we toasted marshmallows. The cold was swept away and feelings of warmth and weary contentment permeated at the close of what seemed to me, a perfect day.

On the first day of Christmas...

When I was ein kleines Kind living in Germany, my mom would give me an advent calendar every year when December came around. She only did this during the years we lived there, which seems appropriate as the advent calendar's origins are Deutsch. Happiness was opening a little door each day and finding chocolaty goodness waiting there just for me. When the prize had been claimed and enjoyed, the 24 hour waiting period until the next door could be opened seemed interminable.

My patience always started out well-fortified but was usually spent by the time my brother's birthday came around on the 10th. At this point I would begin to rationalize in my child's mind why I could open two doors in stead of one on a particular day. The pricks of guilt my young conscience would feel subsided a little more every time I cheated and took an extra chocolate. I remember one day, however, greedily taking not two, but three chocolates instead of the allotted one, and all the guilt came rushing back in a prickling frenzy. I resolved to be good again and only have one chocolate each day that was left until Christmas. By that time, though, it was too late and 5 or 6 days before Christmas, I found myself tasting the bitter fallout of instant gratification instead of sweet German chocolate.

I was thinking about this childhood memory as Dallin and I drove down to North Carolina to be with family for Thanksgiving. It was followed by other sundry Christmas recollections, triggered usually by whatever Christmas song was playing on our car stereo. Many of the memories were happy. There were those that were sad and some that were sacred. As I played and turned them over in my mind, though, I felt that all of them were precious and dear to me.

The idea of recording these memories in an advent calendar kind of format began to work its way in to my head, and I've decided to do just that on our blog. It's self-indulgent, I know---my journal might serve as a better setting since I'm mostly writing them to please myself, but I also think there are some readers, particularly family, who might enjoy sharing in these memories, too. Plus, a blog gives me a heightened sense of accountability for a daily project like this...

SO, from now until Christmas feel free to open our blog "door" each day and be granted a small taste of Christmas or holiday sweetness. You'll probably find that many of the memories/experiences are not dissimilar to your own :) Please share them in your comments if you'd like!