We are all imaginative in some form or another,
for images are the brood of desire.
George Eliot (Mary Ann Evans)
It is not yet snowing here on the farm, and I have to say I am a bit disappointed. I do believe I need snow to get into that Christmas spirit. My having lived in Canada and enjoying snow most every year of my entire life has certainly imprinted my mind as far as the perfect holiday season.
Sitting here looking at green grass does not put me in the mood, so my mind bounces back to my last visit to the city and my Christmas thoughts retreat till that snow decides to come. Sorry Christmas.
My last trip to the city had teased me with a beautiful snowfall and that Christmas spirit started stirring. Finding an old fireplace decorated with stockings where long ago families gathered round trying to keep warm, possibly singing carols and drinking hot cocoa stirred my imagination. Well now, I guess those Christmas thoughts retreating thing did not last very long.
That old fireplace was now partially hidden behind a display of coffees from all around the world. Places where many people have never seen snow, do not celebrate Christmas, and never will. This, now gathering place for writers and artists with their laptops and lattes finds this farm girl wanting to troll this city, and wondering about the stories hiding there.
The day I was in Toronto, Ontario the Santa Claus parade was going on. My having never seen it, I did think I should find my way down to the parade route and find that Christmas spirit. My Mom, the world traveler, oh yes that was what I used to believe, because Toronto seemed like a world away from what I knew. This season always had her find a way there somehow every year. Trying to find those deals on toys and visit friends from long ago. I think she needed to get away from the life she knew in the tiny village, to find that excitement she remembered while growing up. I think she was really finding stories to share with her children or anyone else that wanted to listen.
She would share those stories of watching the Santa Claus parade with floats covered with huge candy canes and trees, of marching bands with music that had you dancing in the street. Mom would always share her stories of happy people sporting huge smiles and laughter. Always a huge smile on her own face sharing stories of an indescribable excitement that hung in the air, sharing those stories with her children and anyone that would listen. My listening to those stories always stirred my imagination and the imaginations of my brothers and sisters.
There were tales of shopping in a city, where you could buy anything you wanted if you had lots of money. I could only imagine. Stories of shopping in stores filled with sparkly decorations and people with bags stuffed with toys and food. Exciting stories, oh yes my Mom was such a wonderful storyteller she could take you to that world and hold you tight, imagining the sounds and the smells.
A room full of wide eyed children back home in the little village sitting near a Christmas tree huddled on a floor trying to keep warm listening to a mother who could and would take you to a world with only her words. Taking you to a place where each and every one of us knew we would have to see for ourselves someday.
Even though I never made it down to see that Santa Claus parade. I was sitting there with my own children in a room in Toronto experiencing every moment in my mind. I could hear every word coming from a little woman sharing those big stories and dreams. I could hear the music coming from those marching bands.
I could see that smiling group of children sitting on the floor near the Christmas tree, in a tiny room in the little village. Every one of us hanging on every word while sipping hot cocoa and dreaming of visiting and experiencing something a world away someday in our own future.
Thanks for that Mom. You were right, there are stories hidden everywhere.