by Pangeacat

Created on: April 25, 2008

My parents, individually, enjoyed taking me on trips for summer and winter vacations, to various states. I was only about five or six years old when my father and uncle decided to pack us into the motor home and travel to Illinois, to visit my paternal grandmother. We would be traveling during December, on the condition that I be at my mothers house for Christmas.

After spending a couple weeks in Illinois, we started back home. I don't think it's possible to have more car trouble (or RV trouble, more accurately) then we did that year. We broke down, with one problem or another, in nearly every state we passed through on our way from Illinois to California. Being winter, there was a good amount of snow fall in nearly all those states as well.

As my father and uncle became more and more frustrated, while my mother yelled often each time they called her to explain yet another break down, I sank further into boredom and anticipation. I love the snow, but I was raised in California, and not very used to it. Furthermore, I had already spent a couple weeks with my paternal grandmother, I wanted to go home and curl up with the grandma who had done a good deal of my raising. And, I wasn't thrilled with the idea of possibly missing Christmas at grandma's house, where I knew she would painstakingly arrange gifts and stockings all night long, and "help" Santa down the chimney. Nor did I wish to possibly miss my opportunity to leave cookies for Santa, and carrots for his reindeer.

It was awfully close, but in the end, we managed to make it back home at around nine o'clock P.M. on Christmas eve. It happened to be one of those very rare years in California, where we get to experience a day or two of mild snow fall. My grandmother stood in the doorway, warmly dressed in a long, fluffy robe, waiting to greet me with open arms, as the RV pulled up to the curb in front of her home.

As quick as could be, I left the cookies and carrots on the coffee table in the living room, across from the fire place. I ran to bed in about a quarter of the time it normally would have taken me, and drifted off to sleep, no longer worried about Christmas that year.

Santa, of course, did not forsake me.

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