The holidays mean home, for me.
I pack up my car with gifts and wine and the dog, and hop on I-5 North. Eventually we veer east, toward the mountains to a town on the river. Many people can’t wait to get out of their small towns, never looking back. I can’t wait to go back to mine. While the house is different since my parents moved, the feeling is the same.
Walking along the river, and down 1st Street is the most familiar feeling. Back in Snohomish, I always choose the back roads, winding through tall pine trees.
Beyond the place, of course, are the people.
We gather together under the same roof, reverting back to our old jokes and stories, sharing wine and laughter.
We’ll bake chocolate chip cookies and I’ll wrap the family’s gifts. We’ll watch my favorite, Christmas Vacation, and dad’s favorite, Scrooge (the old musical with Albert Finney, of course). Christmas morning, we’ll wake early, emptying the contents of our stockings. Those same chocolate chip cookies are now breakfast as we open gifts.
The holidays for me are about home. Being in a place I love with people I love.
As I write this, I’m sitting in a Vancouver Starbucks, impatiently awaiting Bryce to finish work so we can hit the road. Driving north always feels hopeful and comfortable.
Driving north means coming home.
I hope you have a wonderful holiday with people you love and feel the comfort of home wherever you may be. I’ll be signing off for the next week to relax and recharge. I’ll see y’all in the new year. Merry Christmas.