Saturday, January 15, 2011


Phase two of putting away my parents' Christmas decorations led to horror as I ascended the unsteady steps leading to the attic.  The thought of my parents hauling heavy boxes of breakables up and down the steep stairs sent my imagination spinning.  I told them the attic was off limits for storage.  One side of their two garage would be the future warehouse for all things Christmas.  Sitting around the kitchen table drinking coffee at two in the afternoon, my mother complained to my cousins and several friends that I had been lecturing her about the perils of the attic stairs.  They were less than sympathetic.  "We've been telling her that for years."  "Maybe they''ll listen to you."  I picture my parents every holiday season sneaking around like elves, rebelling against rational advice, in order to fill their home with garland and joy.  I'm saddened by their limitations, but even more so by their inability to accept the truth and adjust their lifestyle accordingly.

No comments:

Post a Comment