Lying on my leather couch, I feel it crinkle and crease with each subtle movement I make. I am swaddled up in my wool blanket, with my dog snuggled up next to me. I feel her warm, moist pant brush against my leg with her every breath. I look around the dim-lighted room. The counters are all covered with garland or habited with my mother’s snow scene villages. The village’s fake snow glows and glitters like a ballerina’s tutu, fluttering under the spotlight on stage. Next to the clock stands a gingerbread house loaded with vanilla icing and topped with gumdrops and peppermint candies. Centered on the coffee table, rests an advent wreath with one rose and two violet candles burning. Their flames flicker back and forth, but their light is not as bright as the great flames engulfing the hearth. I can feel its heat warm my face and hear the occasional, sharp cracks of the fire fill my ears.
In the corner of the room, the Christmas tree stands tall—too tall. The magnificent height of the tree has caused it to look somewhat lopsided. Every inch of the tree is still decorated, though. Sentimental ornaments accumulated over the years fill the pine from top to bottom. White lights surround the tree and twinkle like a thousand fireflies in a jar. The burning charcoal mixes with crisp, fresh scent of pine and tickles my nose. But the sweet smell of chocolate-chip cookies baking in the kitchen, escapes from the oven, and oozes into the room. This heavenly scent overpowers both the pine and charcoal. It seems as if I can almost taste the warm chocolate chips melting in my mouth.
My mom prances in and out of the room. Humming and whistling Christmas tunes as she decorates even more. She stands on the maroon ottoman to erase and update the countdown we have to see how many more days til Christmas. The chalk dust clouds together and sprinkles to the ground, as she steps down. She gathers some last minute gifts together. I hear the cutting of paper, tarring of tape, and rustles of tissue paper as she wraps in the adjacent room.
A 52-inch plasma screen TV hangs high on the middle of the wall, stuck on Freeform’s 25 Days of Christmas countdown. The Christmas lights draping down outside distract my eyes from the television and they drift over to the window.
Outside in the cold night, the snowflakes light up the winter sky. The snow falls so peacefully. Each flake just looks like a blur of white, but somehow still looks so breathtakingly beautiful. I bring my focus back to "The Grinch" and my eyes are now glued on the high definition screen, until I get a whiff of warm chocolate rising into my nostrils. I glance down on the coffee table to find the advent wreath replaced with a plate of freshly baked cookies and a mug of my mom’s homemade hot cocoa. The cookies are warm and gooey and soft to the touch. The whipped cream caresses the top of the cocoa. I take a sip and burn the tip of my tongue, but the pain subsides as the smooth chocolate slides down my throat. I take one more look around the room. There’s no place I’d rather be than here; especially during this time of the year.
