Roasting by an Open Fire
Arriving tired and hungry to my mother-in-law’s house for Christmas, a wave of cinnamon scent fills my nostrils, as I swing the front door open. The scent is so thick I have to breathe out of my mouth so I don’t choke.
My eyes still red, I’m greeted by the two-foot-tall porcelain Santa statue positioned at the door entrance.
“Hello,” says Marian, my wife. “We’re here.”
We hear rustling from upstairs. “Be right down.”
Earlier that week, I had to plead with my son Tommy to come. Continua a leggere