Baba’s homemade cookies, old Macedonian recipes, arriving in the mail ~ some crumbled and broken, still melting in my mouth deliciously different;
Mysterious packages hidden among my mother’s shoes ~ peeking warded off by black and white Spectator pumps guarding silently, sentinels of surprise;
My Dad’s monsters, perfectly painted models, stand under the tree ~ our Three Wise Men, Dracula, Frankenstein, and The Wolfman protect my tiny Red Dress Girl;
Jimmy and Philip shouting, my sister counting gifts, our four stockings bulge ~ Mommy made each one exactly the same, yet always we know our own;
First, Gene Autry sings “Rudolph,” then Jerry Vale’s soaring voice, as wrapping paper scatters ~ “Blue Christmas” from Elvis, we muse over our treasures, happy children, basking in Love.