The holidays I remember as a child were filled with magic and wonder. The countdown to Christmas included going to sit on Santas lap (a horrifying experience on my part), ice skating on Saturday nights, getting whacked in the face with snowballs from my tomboy sister. Fresh cold frosty air on my cheeks made my nose run while we barreled up the giant hill in the backyard dragging the thousand pound bobsled we found in the old barn. Flying down the hill at lightening speed, I imagined being on Santas sleigh! Imagination. The glue that held us together. Imagination, the wonder of Christmas. Today so little imagination still exists. Everything is so in your face, instantaneous, and predictable. I pine for the days of yore when a giant pine became an apartment complex and a downed old log was a ship that sailed the seven seas. Imagination. My salvation. Growing up in the country was a lonely existence, but with my imagination I was never alone.
