Going Home for Christmas

by Lucy M. Young

photo by Jason Leung on Unsplash
We're going home for Christmas
And I can hardly wait
For Mother will be waiting,
No matter if we're late.
For a lamp will burn in the window -
A beacon shining bright -
Mother always put it there
To guide us home at night.

Father will be standing
Beside the open door,
A happy smile upon his face
To welcome us once more.
Our little sister will be there -
The angels will let her leave
To be with us just one more time
This lovely Christmas Eve.

The laden tree will sparkle
In the firelight's cheerful glow,
And Mother will be playing
Organ music soft and low.
We'll gather 'round her singing
The carols we all love;
Rejoicing that the Precious Babe
Was sent to us from above.

There will never be a Christmas
Like those our memories know
When we were all together
So many years ago;
But we're going home, down memory lane,
How wonderful it seems
To be going home for Christmas,
If only in my dreams.

Why “woodsmoke and cardamom?”

I read that “scent memory” is one of the strongest senses we have – even considered the “5th sense.” (Google scent memory for an interesting read) According to my own experience, yeah! And the scents of woodsmoke and cardamom have been, for me, particularly evocative of feelings of peace, contentment, security, and so much of the joy of my childhood – the time in my life when I was a true child, though I have never really grown up.

We had a fireplace in the livingroom of my childhood home – the home and fireplace lovingly built by my dad. Besides the obvious benefit of heat, a wood fire provides the very loveliest of fragrances that invariably seep into cushions, curtains and clothing – bonus!!! Tell me you don’t know someone who has a wood-burning stove or fireplace; the scent of smoke they carry with them is, to me, an additional element of their ID, their personality, persona. And that’s a good thing, IMHO (which opinion is, of course, part of this page)

My maternal grandmother and grandfather had a woodstove in their kitchen, both for cooking and for heat. (They also had a smaller oil stove in the kitchen for cooking in the warmer seasons). One of my dearest memories is the way Grandma would hang my wet mittens on the doors of the warming oven on top of her woodstove.

Cardamom is the spice used in the Swedish Coffee Bread (pictured above) my mom made for us every year for Christmas breakfast. As I recall, she made it only at Christmastime, so it has always been referred to in my family as “Christmas Bread” (yes, I’ll post the recipe soon!) For many years, since Mama passed away, I have continued the tradition of baking Christmas Bread for family and friends, and Oh! how wonderful the house smells during the baking days! I can’t imagine Christmas without it.

It is my intention to share poems, thoughts and observations that I hope will conjure in you, my Readers, similar feelings and happy memories. Your comments are welcome!