  Christmas came and went, with large quanties of wrapping paper and numerous discarded bows to prove so. I recieved so many CDs I could open some strange (yet wonderful) music store entirely devoid of hip hop, rap, or synth-driven songs. I'm currently drowning in a sea of quite lovely sweaters and scarves, and magazine subscriptions. It's sad, though, because as the years march onward, Christmas losses it's sparkle. I was too cynical a child to ever believe in Santa Claus (that and the ever-disheartening fact that I have two older brothers who told me everything) But there used to be magic in Christmas mornings. Amped up from Christmas eve's sugar and Garfield's Christmas Movie, I wouldn't sleep much. Stockings were landminds of candy and the completely thoughtful Christmas presents my mom totted in them. Then there were the presents, dolls every year and doll outfits... The winter when I was convinced Zach Hanson was the boy for me and I was given poster after poster sporting his 11-year old drummer likeness.
There was the Christmas my parents bought me my own stereo. And the presents still are so lovely (thanks in part to online ordering and specifically outlined wish lists) My parents are generous. My brothers are thoughtful. The only difference is me. I can't get into the Christmas spirit. But still, it wasn't a day without smiles. My cousin lost his first tooth, loved the Yo-Gi-Oh action figures, and offered me "snowman poop" (more commonly known as marshmellows) That, and Leigh made me a pillow.
I think it's my favorite present. She sewed it herself... lilac, my favorite color. And in her (loveably messy) handwritting, this is written in the center: Hold fast to dreams, for if dreams die, life is a broken-winged bird that can not fly. Hold fast to dreams for when dreams go, life becomes a barren feild frozen with snow. -Langeston Hughes And, urlLink Isral , I fell so terrible about last Saturday. Affectionately... Anna 
