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Hungering For A Christmas I Once Knew
by Annette Agnello
11/15/04
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Hungering For A Christmas I Once Knew

When I grew up our family had some very set traditions. I planed to carry them on forever, boy was I stupid. I got married and married into another set of traditions. So you bend and give up and express your desires. And watch them slip away. For several years I have hungered for a tractional Christmas without long journeys, dozens of strangers, horrible food.

For many years I had made Christmas decorations. There were several new ones each year. My mother had made beautiful ones of felt sequins, and seed beads. For several years she made animals. From cows to giraffes, and everything in between. Then she started making Chrismon ointments. That went on for a few years then it was beaded ointments. I made whatever she was making alongside her, and a few things she didnít make. When crocheted snowflakes and angels were popular I did that while I did that. I also did cross stitch and needlepoint. The tree had been a tradition for years. It went up while we were watching the Thanksgiving parades, and stayed up till the Rose bowl parade.

Around the time I finished collage the village under the tree started. A couple of miniature houses and tiny trees at first, then a town hall, a railroad station, a lake (mirror surrounded by cotton snow) with tiny ice-skaters. In time there was even a snow fort with a kid making snowballs behind it. There were churches and a large tree, all of 9 inches tall, with tiny decorations of its own.

There were also traditional decorations which are nearly 50 years old. Bells that actually ring, ceramic angels painted gold. Some imported decorations we found in a shop somewhere. Blown glass ones I bought at a craft show while I was in collage as a gift for mother. Lots of traditions, years of them.

When I married Mario, his family went to Louisiana every Christmas. They did it in a driving straight through 23 hours on the road. That year it nearly killed me, my husband took pity on me and since the first year we have stopped overnight about halfway there. That first year I put up the tree on Thanksgiving as always but had to take it own before Christmas because the cat was staying here, people were checking on her but they wouldnít be here all the time to protect the tree. That was heartbreaking.

The next two Christmases I didnít even put up my tree. I was heartbroken. By the third year I felt like I wasnít even having Christmas. I was hungry for Christmas. I didnít want to give gifts no one wanted, or get gifts like that either. I wasnít crazy about what I called a forced march. I longed for a Christmas which felt like Christmas again.

Marioís cousins were nice enough. They were very hospitable, but it wasnít home, and it certainly wasnít Christmas to me. As the song says, ďIíll be home for Christmas...Ē Finally Iíll get what I have hungered for this Christmas for the first time since I have been married. A tree, with mainly religious decorations, not that the patriotic tree from the first year wasnít interesting. One of Marioís cousins suffers from migraines and they keep the place to dark to see. Ideally when bored as I was there, I like to read or do some kind of crafts, it was to dark for anything.


I guess in my heart Iím just a homebody and I hungered for home and familiar things, and there is nothing familiar about Louisiana even after three years.
Around the time I finished collage the village under the tree started. A couple of miniature houses and tiny trees at first, then a town hall, a railroad station, a lake (mirror surrounded by cotton snow) with tiny ice-skaters. In time there was even a snow fort with a kid making snowballs behind it. There were churches and a large tree, all of 9 inches tall, with tiny decorations of its own.

There were also traditional decorations which are nearly 50 years old. Bells that actually ring, ceramic angels painted gold. Some imported decorations we found in a shop somewhere. Blown glass ones I bought at a craft show while I was in collage as a gift for mother. Lots of traditions, years of them.

When I married Mario, his family went to Louisiana every Christmas. They did it in a driving straight through 23 hours on the road. That year it nearly killed me, my husband took pity on me and since the first year we have stopped overnight about halfway there. That first year I put up the tree on Thanksgiving as always but had to take it own before Christmas because the cat was staying here, people were checking on her but they wouldnít be here all the time to protect the tree. That was heartbreaking.

The next two Christmases I didnít even put up my tree. I was heartbroken. By the third year I felt like I wasnít even having Christmas. I was hungry for Christmas. I didnít want to give gifts no one wanted, or get gifts like that either. I wasnít crazy about what I called a forced march. I longed for a Christmas which felt like Christmas again.

Marioís cousins were nice enough. They were very hospitable, but it wasnít home, and it certainly wasnít Christmas to me. As the song says, ďIíll be home for Christmas...Ē Finally Iíll get what I have hungered for this Christmas for the first time since I have been married. A tree, with mainly religious decorations, not that the patriotic tree from the first year wasnít interesting. One of Marioís cousins suffers from migraines and they keep the place to dark to see. Ideally when bored as I was there, I like to read or do some kind of crafts, it was to dark for anything.


I guess in my heart Iím just a homebody and I hungered for home and familiar things, and there is nothing familiar about Louisiana even after three years.

If you died today, are you absolutely certain that you would go to heaven? You can be! TRUST JESUS NOW

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Member Comments
Member Date
Rita Garcia 17 Nov 2004
Wonderful childhood memories! Blessings, Rita
Peter Nelson 15 Nov 2004
You've definitely captured a painful sentiment that most of us have experienced that seems specifically tied to holidays. Our expectations and rememberances are juxtaposed against our reality, and the discrepancy is saddening.




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