I am a person attached to tradition. I love having themes connected to different seasons- music that fits the present emotion, a tv series that becomes associated with a life chapter, or specific routines linked to a place or a time.
Christmas is no different. But over the years as my sisters and I have grown older, moved away from home, and split holiday time with men who have their own Christmas traditions, sentimental routines have fallen to the wayside. Much of holiday magic has been lost and we often talk about ways we can rekindle those things that make it special.
Despite all the changes, though, a few things have remained the same- potluck lunches in Portland, Indiana on Christmas Eve, and cookies and coffee at my great Aunt Mavis’ on Christmas Eve night. The story goes that the Coldren house (my dad’s cousin) is haunted. It was built in 1894, and most of the wood, windows, doors, etc are original. As a girl, the stories of the woman in the attic rocking chair, and the woman in the hallway that the Coldren kids would see when they were little were quite thrilling.
It was fun to learn more of its history and feel the goose bumps on my arm as the stories were retold…
I told my Aunt Mavis that her sugar cookies were magical.