9. Smile Anyway by Richelle E. Goodrich

 



Smile Anyway

Richelle E. Goodrich

Christmas is like candy; it slowly melts in your mouth sweetening every taste bud, making you wish it could last forever.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

14. December began with shopping by L Kiew

Image
  December began with shopping L Kiew for the exotic: mint and apple sauce, imported rosemary, cranberries, candied peel and blocks of English butter. It began with baking, the Christmas cake drenched daily with dark brandy until it oozed from the lightest finger-flick and emptying jar after jar of Robertson’s mincemeat into pastry. Cinnamon gold-dusted everything. After the final Advent window, we opened all our doors, welcoming hungry occupants, their cars filling up the driveway, aunts and uncles, cousins in greater and lesser iterations, the generations dressed in batik, bearing gifts. The kitchen was ever at the heart of it. My parents cooked together. Crackling, perfection an inch thick on the side of pig that Dad roasted while Mum beatified the oven-pan, red wine gravy, bliss of roux. Cheerful, family sat where we could, plates heavy in heady heat, heaped meat, golden potatoes, peas, carrots too. Our hands were full. Still there was more, glasses, cups, Anchor beer and Sunkist,
Read more

24. 'Twas the night before Christmas by Major Henry Livingstone, jr.

Image
  Account of a Visit from St. Nicholas BY MAJOR HENRY LIVINGSTON, JR. ’Twas the night before Christmas, when all thro’ the house, Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse; The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there; The children were nestled all snug in their beds, While visions of sugar plums danc’d in their heads, And Mama in her ‘kerchief, and I in my cap, Had just settled our brains for a long winter’s nap — When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter. Away to the window I flew like a flash, Tore open the shutters, and threw up the sash. The moon on the breast of the new fallen snow, Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below; When, what to my wondering eyes should appear, But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny rein-deer, With a little old driver, so lively and quick, I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick. More rapid than eagles his coursers they came, And he whistled,
Read more