Desert Dreaming

As a child, I spent every Christmas at my Grandma’s house in Arizona. My dad would pack up the car with presents and make a bed for us in the middle of the van and we’d count the passing Christmas lights on every house until we fell asleep to the hum of the road. We’d wake to the crunch of the rocks in my Grandma’s driveway as we pulled up to her house. We’d get out, all scraggly looking, but so excited to be there, we’d run into the house to check out all the decorations and the enormously fat, tinsel covered tree in the formal living room.

Our stockings were hung with care and I can still remember the bubbling excitement of Christmas Eve. My brother and sister and I, all cozy in our footed pjs would read “The Night Before Christmas” and listen to Gene Autry Christmas songs. We’d talk and giggle in our dark room, wanting the morning to come, thinking about Santa, dreaming of our gifts and eventually falling asleep. Whoever woke up first was tasked with waking us all up and we’d run to see what Santa had left. We were allowed to empty our stockings while the adults begrudgingly made it out of bed.

My Grandma’s house and the Arizona desert hold very special places in my heart. The cacti dotted roads, the monotone, earthy landscape, the smell of rocks warmed by the sun combined with rain on the horizon, all remind me of my childhood and some of the best memories of my life. My Grandma has been gone for five years and I miss her dearly. So with Christmas around the corner, I find myself, desert dreaming.