There's a picture of me somewhere under the tree in pink footie pj's. When I say "under" the tree I mean as if I was a mechanic checking it for oil. I would spend hours looking up through the limbs at the lights and ornaments. It was a parallel imaginary universe where sugar plum fairies danced in my head and sometimes before my eyes. I swear they moved but maybe I had too much "adult" egg nog by mistake.
Creating fanciful story lines for the inanimate treasures we collected over the years and wishing deep down that I could join them amongst the needles. Or maybe I was just really into "The Littles" at that time, but they lived in the walls of the house and not in a tree....I digress.
Christmas is about escaping into the warmth of childhood. Getting as close as I could to the tree made the magic of it spring into my tiny little brain. Clearly it took root and has grown into my memory. Kind of like that conifer tree that grew in that guy's lung on Grey's Anatomy only less gross & deadly.
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