What is Christmas all about? Wonderful memories! This collection of stories celebrates the very best and most poignant memories of the past, and is sure to have you laughing and crying right along with the authors who shared their stories in Memories from Maple Street, U.S.A.: The Best Christmas Ever.
Who can forget those special Santa gifts that brought such joy to us in our childhood? Those toys we fervently hoped ol’ Santa would bring for us if we were good? Livia J. Washburn, Cheryl Pierson, and Tanya Hanson write about some of those hopes and dreams for that certain gift with a special, personal twist to each story.
But Christmas memories also sometimes hold a special place in our hearts because of a person that was somehow important in our lives. Authors Sharon Cunningham, Beverly Wells, Carol Huff and Gigi Meyer weave that aspect of Christmas into their beautiful holiday tales, with remembrances of some very special people in their lives—and why Christmas means so much because of them.
Kathleen Rice Adams pens a sentimental story of a wonderful gift to her mother from her father, and Charlie Steel’s story of hunting for the perfect Christmas tree with his father is sure to make you smile. Jim Landwehr, Tina Holt, and Randy Lee Eickhoff all give us a backward glance at the love and traditions from the past that make Christmas what it is, while Christine Waldman tells a poignant tale of Santa looking for his lost reindeer in the snow.
This is one wonderful collection of heartfelt stories that you will not want to pass up—and it also makes a great gift for all ages—if you still believe in Santa.
When I was a child, Christmas wasn’t Christmas without three things:
A Christmas Eve reading of Clement Clark Moore’s “A Visit from St. Nicholas.”
A massive tree-decorating fiasco.
New evidence my father was an incurable rascal.
I’m not certain, but I believe those three things were codified in some obscure federal law.
Back then, no one could’ve convinced me all kids didn’t tangle themselves in strings of lights, consequently becoming imprisoned with whichever sibling they were feuding with at the moment. No one could’ve convinced me living rooms weren’t supposed to lie beneath mountains of snarled tinsel.
No one could’ve convinced me a nasty war halfway around the world would curtail the annual reading of Moore’s venerated holiday classic.
The Christmas my father spent in Vietnam lacked much of the traditional joy. Even surrounded by seasonal music and decorations, plenty of cousins to help us foment rebellion, and grandparents who adored us (for reasons I’ve yet to figure out), something essential and very special was…missing. That year, four holy terrors realized no matter how hard we tried, we’d never be as good as my father at being a kid.
He confirmed our suspicion twelve months later.