Tonight was our little town's official Christmas Tree lighting. The mammoth pine in front of the Bed & Breakfast was the center of attention as folks bundled up and waited for the Mayor to flip the switch.
Unfortunately, I didn't last that long. An unusually frigid day for North Carolina kept the crowds huddled around hot chocolate, coffee, and hot cider tables. After helping out at the hot apple cider table for an hour, my feet froze to the cement pad and my head pounded from the bitter cold. My fifteen-month-old grand baby wasn't interested in waiting another hour to see Santa. I worried whether he was too cold as my nose dripped and my fingers grew numb. So, we headed to the warmth of the car and home.
Inside my house, the tree is lit and the mantles are decorated for the season. It's warm and cozy as the fire roars. It's Christmas tree time.
I love driving by houses at night, getting a glimpse of Christmas trees showing off in the windows. They blink and stretch toward the top of the curtain rods. Some are formal, dressed in white lights, while others dare to twinkle entirely in blue or even red. Occasionally, I sneak a peak at an old one, with those retro mammoth lights we had as kids. They came in every Crayola color, remember? Even orange. Hurling me back to the sixties when every tree was covered in angel hair and sprayed with fake snow, I love Christmas tree time.
But tonight, a fifty-foot tree in our town stands as host of the Christmas Season. I'll see it often, get some pictures, and remember it always. It will record itself in my memory book of my first Christmas Tree Time here.
I like that.
Blessings to you and yours.