'Tis the season

'tis the season for fighting with Christmas lights, wrapping paper, getting writer's cramp from all those "short" updates on cards, and praying you haven't forgotten anything important, like thawing the turkey. And you know what, I wouldn't trade a minute of it. Oh, sure, I complain like crazy about how tired and stressed I am, but it isn't completely true. I am a Christmas addict, plain and simple. I might order gifts online, but they are chosen with the giftee in mind. I might curse the tangled lights, but there is now way I wouldn't put them up. I may get annoyed with Brillo and Bailey who insist on offering their kitty expertise for gift wrapping, but it is all part of the fun.

The Christmas addiction of mine is one thing I can blame entirely on my mother and father. It really is true -- it's my parents fault. Some of my fondest memories of the holiday season are setting up the Christmas scene with my mother every year. She had a collection of miniature felt and wax figurines that we would arrange on the fireplace hearth every year. There was the nativity scene, with little white sheep and golden angels. It was always separated from the snowmen and Santas by flocked wire evergreens. The church always held center stage on the mirror that masqueraded as the frozen pond. Skaters endlessly skated in the same spot around the "ice."

Mom and I would carefully unwrap each treasured figure while Dad put the tree together. For years it was one of those aluminum trees which I outwardly declared my disdain for, in inwardly cherished. I could sit for hours in the darkened living room watching the multicolored play of lights on the reflective "needles."

Christmas has changed so much over the years. I still have the Christmas scene figurines but no longer put them out. They may have survived years of sun and hot and cold, but I doubt they would survive the attack of the cats. The aluminum tree has long since been replaced by faux Frasier firs. New traditions have taken their place -- a collection of stuffed mooses have replaced the Christmas scene. Bate and I open gifts on Christmas morning instead of Christmas Eve. We pass on a Christmas tree as the kitties already have enough toys.

The one thing that hasn't changed is the rush of preparation, the running around to get everything done, the haste to hang the Christmas lights before fingers freeze off.

And I still wouldn't trade a minute of it.

Riding along on a carousel

This wasn't on my 2010 Happiness Bucket List, but maybe it should have been -- ride on a carousel. It was always my favorite ride at amusement parks as a child, and as an adult, the artistry of carousel horses fascinated me. I got the chance to see some carousel horses up close and personal and relive my childhood's fond memories at Back Home on the Farm in Harrisonburg.

Bonnie and I went out last Wednesday evening to see the annual butterfly exhibit. Trying to capture these fragile, beautiful creatures in a photograph is a great test of our photographic ability. Despite the heat, we spent nearly an hour in the greenhouse, stalking and photographing butterflies. We were on our way out when Mr. Hess asked if we wanted to see the carousel.



Back Home on the Farm is a kid's -- no matter what their age -- delight. There are flowers, a John Deere "tractor" race track, a cow train, in the fall a corn maze and pumpkin patch. And the carousel. It has been carefully restored, Mr. Hess explained, with the larger horses painted to represent famous Virgiians and others from American history and the smaller horses representing Virginia's wide array of agricultural products. When he asked if we wanted to take a ride before he shut the carousel down for the night, I couldn't refuse. For several glorious minutes, around and around I went on the Thomas Jefferson horse (chosen because it was low enough for me to mount while wearing a dress and still keep my dignity). I was lost in the sensations of jhe air rushing past and the familiar sound of the carousel musics. For those few minutes, I wasn't a married, working woman with all of the joys and stresses that come with that adult life. No, for those few minutes, I was a young girl, racing across endless fields, just her and her steadfast horse entangled in some new and daring adventure.

Who needs therapy when you can ride a carousel?

(Photos of butterfly and carousel horse by Pamela Hamilton, copyright 2010; photo of Pamela on carousel by Bonnie Burt, copyright 2010)