Christmas in Quebec
Maybe it wasn't the way that I remember it.
But to me it was magic.
It was the mountains and huge pine trees. It was winding snow covered roads and dim headlights in the distance. It was colourful twinkle lights winding upwards for miles. It was tinsel everywhere and the smell of my moms hairspray. It was my grampa's log cabin and Jesse laying by the wood stove.
It was Christmas in Quebec and nothing is as classic as that. It was the stuff Christmas movies are made out of. An old piano and children singing Little Drummer Boy. I don't know if anyone heard but to me Shannon sounded like an Angel. The grown ups laughing, the women's blouses glittering, red lipstick and my fancy dress. Granny and her quaffed hair, pink doilies and pink padded toilet seats.
It was the forest and walking outside in the moonlight looking for freshly tapped maple syrup. And I'm not sure if anyone else saw but my dad pointed out Rudolph's nose in the sky. It was my brothers suede paige boy hat and his precious eyes.
It was one hundred presents all wrapped so perfectly and nervous tummy. It was hugs and kisses and sitting on everyone's lap then a long ride back home. Christmas eve in Quebec was the safest and warmest occasion. It was nodding off with a full belly and memories in my heart.
