The familiar walls surround me as I inch through my grandmother’s house, decorated with the holiday spirit. Her vintage trinkets cover the room, making it feel ageless. The old Christmas decorations light up, reminding me of all the memories of celebrations during the holidays and the oh so familiar laughter of family and tense card games played. The soft glow emitted from the lights makes everything less harsh and colorful. The large front room contains a classy Christmas tree full of ornaments that reflect the shine and glow of the lights. The fancier tree contains white lights that reflect the definitiveness of the meticulously placed ornaments. They emit a certain maturity that exude the change in the family over the years, the loss, growth, and ages of the many members. The stairs are lined with garland, inviting guests up to their rooms to stay in the warm house. The small dilapidated puzzle lives out its last few years, the wood growing soft from the years of use by small children. As I approach the stairs, the scent of fresh cookies wafts up towards me, enticing me to follow the trail downstairs. The gingerbread men and women sit stacked upon a fancy tray, covered with frosting from just a few hours ago. Quiet voices linger in the living room as the Polar Express plays in the background.  

The “kid tree” as my grandma calls it, is covered with ornaments from my childhood such as Scooby Doo, Pooh Bear, and Rudolf the Red Nosed Reindeer. The multicolored lights make the room seem as if it has been covered with a rainbow-colored blanket. Candy canes cover the tree, bringing a certain Christmas feel to the aura of the tree. Their smooth candy covered in multiple stripes helping them to stand out against the deep green bristles of the tree. The bristles are made of plastic, causing them to shine under the constant glow of the colorful lights attached to the wires that are wrapped around the tree. The presents under the tree are waiting to be opened and laughed about, the contents unknown. The ageless Santa decorations stare aimlessly into the living area, begging to be brought to life. The porcelain Santa’s eyes are meticulously painted shut as he stands next to his wife, who has a smile painted on next to him. On the counter, a small glass stove is playing a soft Christmas song as it melts the minuscule candle inside of its oven slowly. Every year, the small stove is pulled out of the Christmas tote to be placed on the counter for children to play with, time after time.  

Across the room, the fireplace sends waves of heat to each person in the room, keeping them from the cold of the powdery snow outside. It lays in drifts, inviting the young and old alike to play in it. The snow will surely stick to gloves like glue, causing the coldness to seep through the thin cloth of them. In the light of the morning the snow sparkles, the invitation to play in it even more evident now. The children all rush outside to frolic and play in the cold, wet, powdery snow, their boots leaving footprints in the fresh snow. The dogs who have somehow made their way outside roll around in the snow, leaving dog angels along with paw prints in the mess mother nature has made of the backyard. Along the window the frost is evident, leaving a trail of moisture around the edges of the window. The fireplace still warms the people on the inside of the house, adding to the drastic difference of temperatures of the two places. Breakfast is on the stove, a mixture of pancakes, eggs, and bacon wafting through the air. Hungry family members gather around the counter top bar, waiting their turn to be fed with the tantalizing food. Soon enough, the other half of the family will arrive, filling the house with a welcomed hum of constant noise, laughter and cheers ringing out.  

Originating from the living room, a Christmas candle burns, overpowering the scent of the cookies and replacing it with the smell of spruce trees, a classic Christmas candle. The scent wafts through the air, claiming its’ dominance over the rest of the smells in the house. The glass around the green tinted candle reflects the many colors of the room back to me. Standing in the middle of the room, the pool table sits across from me, it’s red felt covering obvious. The pool balls named by number, all in a precise order. Organized by a triangle shaped cut out, they are now ready to be a part of the game, sinking into holes occasionally. They glide across the velvet like surface, the light clink of the cue tapping the ball evident in the sound of the room. The people surrounding the pool table hold expressions of joy and twinkles in their eyes as they skillfully sink the pool balls into their homes. Not a care in the world, surrounded by family, a safe space. The occasional humorous comment said, causing laughter to ring out in the room.  
Near the couch, the dogs lay staring at the kids, more so teenagers now, as they try to unsuccessfully get them to play with the toys. The short, stout, dark brown dog snaps her teeth playfully as she attempts to get the teens to play with her, her course dark hair stiff as she moves. The medium sized brown and white dog tries to play with the shorter one, a low growl erupting from his throat, playful of course. Eventually, the dogs give up and decide to lay down next to any available person. 

Once the younger children arrive, the floor is filled with miscellaneous toys for the young and old. The small plastic barn houses plastic cows, horses, ducks, and even a few farmers. Imaginations are running wild as the toys take over the small children's minds, encouraging them to imagine themselves as whatever they would like. They pull out a pint-sized pink plastic kitchen to play with, ironically playing “house” while in the larger, real, house. They add a baby doll to the tiny high chair, feeding it fake shiny peas on a spoon. The adults struggle to make it across the room due to the plethora of toys covering the floor like a new layer of carpet. The holidays fill the house with joy and happiness, something that will never be forgotten.