[Slynky]

Well, here is Mr. Verbose, himself. And, at my age, it's very hard to pick out the most memerable scene so, I present several (starting, since it's near Christmas, with a story I placed on my website:

One night, while laying in bed together, my wife and I talked about Christmas. With a sense of sadness, I tried to explain how Christmas had changed so much for me. Hustle/bustle and commercialism override all the feelings I had of Christmas as a child. I declined to make an attempt that night as we lay there in each others arms, but now as "Little Drummer Boy", my favorite Christmas song, fills our bedroom with its message, I feel like trying to put into words the magic that was once Christmas for me. And for those who may be curious enough to read this, I hope you are not bored by my failure to transfer my memories to words.

I grew up in a small town nestled in the lazy foothills of western North Carolina, the oldest son of a single parent, my mother. A younger sister completed the family picture and was just about all that my poor mother could afford to raise. We were so poor that in the middle of winter, I often sought comfort between the old central oil heater that provided our only source of warmth and its adjoining wall. Mom kept it turned down low to save money. That's just a tiny sample of how poor we were. So, you can understand, perhaps, that there was not much money to be spent for frivolous things, Christmas included. After all, patches were needed for the holes in my jeans and of course, food, and other things as well. I remember being envious of my other friends at school but, even at that age, I tried to understand my mother hadn't the means to give us as much as she wanted to. And maybe it was a gift that I had to learn to enjoy Christmas in other ways. These vignettes are the strongest of my memories:

The Waldensian Presbyterian church in the middle of our town always displayed an incredible manger scene at the front of the church that faced our main street. Flood lights and the old church, built in 1903, provided the perfect setting. The plywood figures were bigger than life, or so it seemed. And the stable was as real as I have ever seen, having a full roof and a manger filled with straw. I remember still, walking around the figures late in the evening, by myself, the only intrusion being the noise of the cars that slowly made their way through town. Being alone among those stiff wooden figures made me remember that I shouldn't be sad at my poor life. I went there often. And only at night. And, if it snowed, the magic, somehow, was completed.

The small-town window displays were as magical to me as any of those found in Macys or Harrods. I used to press my gloveless fingers against the cold glass and peer inside till my breath fogged the vision. And then I'd move on to the next window to dream some more. I had no need to worry about the periodic scrunch of footsteps in the snow behind me as strangers made their way about our friendly town. After checking all the windows for new visions, I slowly made my way home in the dark.

The town, for some wonderful reason, was filled with evergreens made for Christmas. Branches curved and arching toward the ground were the perfect Christmas accessory. Laden with snow as can only be found in greeting cards, the lower branches rested on the ground. Add to this image the sound of snow falling in the quiet night air and you have a recipe for a peacefulness that seemed the perfect illustration for Christmas.

I spent many of the days that led to Christmas alone. My friends were busy with their families and my family--my mother--was working overtime to help make extra money. And I may have been sad in those long-ago-days, taking pleasure in whatever way that came free of charge, but now, remembering, I long for those days and the memories that I shall never experience again.

Oh...and Christmas day? When I looked under the modestly-decorated Christmas tree that had found its way from a forgotten patch of woods to our house, very early in the morning as all children do, I was never disappointed. In fact, each year seemed to outdo the previous and I was always surprised at how my mother had managed to do it. Maybe there really was a Santa Claus

And, in no particular order:

[*]First time I saw the Grand Canyon[*]Flying over the Alps as the sun rose[*]The many times my daughter comes up to me crying and tells me she's sorry for what she did after I punished her[*]The first "night" I spent with my wife[*]Schloss Neuswanstein in germany[*]Venice (the city with a photograph waiting around each turn)[*]Hong Kong (and Kowloon) , London, Tokyo, Paris, Munich, and Berlin (before the wall came down)