Write on Edge: RemembeRED

Posted on | September 20, 2011 | 12 Comments

It is only half-light outside and sometimes still so dark that I blink once, then twice just to adjust to the stillness.  No matter how late or early my eyes open, there is always the spring bounce of the bed beside me; my sister is always awake first, rustling with sheets or books or whatever she has to keep herself occupied until morning light tiptoes through the filter of the tap, tap, tapping pussy willow branches against our window.

Before sitting to join her, I breathe in the scratchy flannel of my sheets, pressing my face down into the Strawberry Shortcake pillow and twisting the soft yellow and white threads of my almost-gone blanket.  As long as I lay still, slowly inhaling the morning, there is still the promise of magic hovering, flipping up and around inside my stomach like a million tiny butterflies, waiting to greet the day.

Before long, I sit, legs dangling, facing my sister in nervous anticipation.  The mattresses creak and spring, bouncing out our excitement as we whisper and giggle, our voices high sopranos of sound against the tick of the wall clock and the soft pink hush of the walls.  Finally, the creak of floorboards and the swish of slippers sound against the hallway.  We hold our breath, watching the door, waiting for the familiar sounds and smells that mean it is time to tear out of our room and down the two levels of stairs to the family room.

Slowly, a waft of sage-laden sausage creeps up the stairwell, filling the room with the swirl of breakfast alongside the familiar dark roast coffee.  We’re at the edge of our beds, daring each other “No, you call them!” “No you!” until one of us wins or loses and our warm feet plant firmly against the cold floor with a familiar slap, slap, slap to the door.  And then with a flourish, the door swings open and the cloud of breakfast pours in, tinged with evergreen and a hint of cinnamon.  We call down loudly to our parents, begging to get up again and again until we hear my mother push the time-worn click of the play button on the old cassette player and The Statler Brothers Christmas Card begins to sway around and around the downstairs rooms.   My father appears, his face sleepy but blue eyes bright, and my sister begs again “Can we go now? Can we?”  He grins, shaking his head.

“I don’t know why you’re so excited, girls, Santa didn’t come this year.”

And with a cry of excitement, we take off, knees over elbows, racing each other through the chilled air, down through the split-level house until we stand in the room we covet, feet wedged deep in the shag carpet and eyes brightly lit with the glow of Christmas.

 

Comments

12 Responses to “Write on Edge: RemembeRED”

  1. Jennifer Williams
    September 20th, 2011 @ 1:25 pm

    Christmas morning… A kid’s dream come true.

  2. Anonymous
    September 20th, 2011 @ 1:32 pm

    So sweet! I realized about halfway through that we were talking about Christmas…about the time you were sitting on the edge of the bed watching the door. It made me smile.

  3. Amy
    September 20th, 2011 @ 2:02 pm

    Love …..Always, “santa didn’t come”. Also, weren’t they Holly Hobbie sheets? 😉

  4. Anonymous
    September 20th, 2011 @ 2:09 pm

    noooo Holly Hobby bedspread, strawberry shortcake sheets! 🙂

  5. Anonymous
    September 20th, 2011 @ 2:09 pm

    noooo Holly Hobby bedspread, strawberry shortcake sheets! 🙂

  6. Galit Breen
    September 20th, 2011 @ 7:31 pm

    I love the happiness here! My favorites were the scents that you captured {Yum!} and your dad’s joke. That’s so the way my husband’s humor is with our kids and we all love it! We roll our eyes at him, but we so love it! 🙂

  7. Kpiccini
    September 20th, 2011 @ 8:22 pm

    I love Christmas so much and this brought back every single reason why. Your descriptions were vivid and amazing!!! Wow!.

  8. Kpiccini
    September 20th, 2011 @ 8:22 pm

    I love Christmas so much and this brought back every single reason why. Your descriptions were vivid and amazing!!! Wow!.

  9. Amanda Freund
    September 20th, 2011 @ 9:17 pm

    My grandfather said similar things to us on Christmas and then would laugh and laugh when we believed him. I felt like I was with you on Christmas morning-great job!

  10. AwayWeGoNancy
    September 21st, 2011 @ 1:30 am

    As long as I lay still, slowly inhaling the morning, there is still the promise of magic hovering, flipping up and around inside my stomach like a million tiny butterflies, waiting to greet the day.

    What an utterly gorgeous line. My goodness, that’s lovely.

    And this is a sensory delight, top to bottom. Smells, sights, the whole enchilada.

  11. Roxanne Piskel
    September 21st, 2011 @ 4:17 pm

    What a fantastic scene. The sensory details are just perfect. I am there, in that moment. Amazing.

  12. CDG
    September 23rd, 2011 @ 2:36 pm

    Your parents Christmas morning routine is achingly familiar. It was a treat to red. Your descriptions are just exquisite, but my favorite?

    “the soft pink hush of the walls”

    I love an unexpected comparison across the senses. So fantastic.

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