the ghost of christmas past

i used to like christmas. i liked it when i lived in a nice house in the country, lit with a wood stove with my mom, my dad, my brother and a puppy. we endured church on christmas eve, hung out with nana and grampie a bit, then wrote a survey for santa to find out if he was real, by comparing the answers with that of the ones left for santa by our friends. we each opened a present on christmas eve. we believed in christ and santa enough to get by. anxiously, we went to bed and rose early to peek at our bounty much before the folks lifted their heads from their pillows. they acted surprised. with the smell of the wood furnace in our snouts, we began with our stockings. our gifts were opened one by one, going around in a circle-- to add to the suspense, appreciate what each other received and prolong that special christmas feeling. after the hugs and thanks, and an hour or so of trying out our few gifts, our slippered feet took us to the kitchen where dad prepared the christmas breakfast--often back bacon, scrambled eggs and toast.later in the day, we'd visit aunts, uncles and grandparents and they'd show us what santa brought them, and they'd feed us pot of gold or quality street chocolates. later, mom cooked a bird and all the obvious fixins. we'd cheerfully chow down on our noel feast, with lemon cheesecake for dessert. people would call and we'd answer the phone with a jolly "merry christmas!" my grampie and dad would sit in the livingroom and flip thru their new books. mom and nana would scramble and ramble in the kitchen the whole day thru. my brother and i would go our separate ways to mingle with our new whatevers. this, in essense, was my christmas past.