In the Slow Lane

Slow Lane Carol

Fresh, and I do mean fresh as in re-freshed, after Christmas.  Mellow you might say. What?  Did  ghosts of Christmas Past sneak into dreams? 


Well, sure they did.  1959, a four-year old daughter alseep on the couch wakes to Santa in a moon beam placing gifts.  Still says it was Santa.  A little son toddles to his sister's toy ironing board, pleased with this mommy tool.  It might've been a sign.  He grew up to be both mommy and daddy; good he was attracted to ironing at an early age.  (I have some pretty good ironing board stories, but I'll leave them for now.)  A baby son's eyes dark eyes light up, as he spies, then crawls full speed to small tree placed in a standing planter.  Dust bunnies skitter in his wake.  Wow!  Pulls himself up (for the first time) and gives that tree such a shake!  So much for that. 


Christmas Present, as in now, was a present, as in gift.  Younger hands took the Christmas helm and steered the family to a delightfully, simple, fun-filled holiday.  We met, for the first time, two great-grandsons, probably the most intelligent and cutest kids on the planet with the exception, of course, of their remarkable cousins.


Christmas Future looks bright as another little Valentine great-granddaughter, christened the Acrobat, rolls and tumbles in the wings, eager to join us.  The count stands four to three, femine side....... for now.


Though I was somewhat withered in spirit and body (okay a lot), Christmas rejunvenated me.  Hard to believe, but little twigs sprouting on the family tree did the trick.  Is that great or what? 





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