Christmas Day

It is sunny and warm, just like it was yesterday and the day before. Perfect weather, perfect day. A bit of a tropical breeze just to stir the air and let the leaves make music in the trees.

There are days when I can hear my father's voice, and the voices of my grandmothers. I can see my dad standing next to the warm chimney in my grandmother's kitchen. I can hear both of my grandmothers as they wished everyone Merry Christmas in Italian. I know how to say it, but I don't know how to spell it, and I won't disrespect the Italian greeting by misspelling it here.

If I close my eyes, I can see the dining room in my grandmother's house in South Ozone Park. I can see all of my aunts and uncles, I can hear their voices. That house had such a wonderful, warm and loving energy, no matter the holiday, no matter the day.

I called my dad yesterday, to wish him a Merry Christmas, to tell him that I love him. When I hung up the phone, I cried. I would bet that he did the same. There are days when I wish that he had stayed here in Texas, and other days when I know exactly why he wanted to move back up north. "I was born up north.... I need to die up north. Who's going to know me in a Texas grave?"

To everyone too far away to hug.... to everyone else much too far away to see.... Merry Christmas. May your days be sunny and bright.... may they be filled with love and magic, and soft music like the breeze stirring in the leaves.