Santa's beard and jelly doughnuts.

When the first journals were hot off the press, we shopped them around... to family. My dad was one of my first customers. No discount. He paid the full price for his very own Black and White Original Know Me Journal. My accountant (Jon) would have it no other way.

Fast forward to present day and if you're standing real close to me, I may slip a journal in your pocket. I give them away a lot. But I always write it down. So my accountant (Jon) can document the slow bleed.

My father dutifully filled out his book using his very best scribbly chicken scratch handwriting, which is probably what I love most about it. He answered and reflected and included a really sweet childhood memory I never knew about. (And never would have known about had he not been asked in the book. So buy a book because they are great! Or stand real close to me and check your pockets.)

My father was born during the Depression. He lived with his working class parents and sister in a tiny Sears shotgun house. They didn't have much. But at Christmas, my grandmother would make things magical for her kids even though there weren't a ton of presents. My dad told the story of how she trimmed hairs from their white dog and left them by Santa's note as if his beard had shed. How sweet is that? 

I only knew my grandmother as a cranky, tired, blunt and worn out old lady. Who could blame her? Life had been a challenge at times. To read about how she, as a young mother, came up with a creative way to thrill her children on Christmas morning made me want to sob buckets. I'm so glad that image pops into my head now when I think of her. Along with the white chalky mints she always carried in her purse and the smell of scrambled eggs cooking in a cast iron pan.

This inspired me to contemplate my most memorable Christmas morning moment and I was suddenly very ashamed. Because it isn't beautiful or touching. It's not about loving family and appreciating the true meaning of blah, blah. It's about the highest high and the lowest low - in that order - and a misbehaving jelly doughnut.

I was probably about 12. The gig was up. No more Santa. All I really wanted that year was a 10 speed bike to ride to school and I bugged my parents relentlessly.


They made me wait. We opened all the gifts. No bike. Then they told me to look around. Yes! When I found my beautiful 10 speed parked on the porch, I was so very happy. It was sand colored with a suede seat. Gorgeous. 


Until my brother, while checking out the gears, accidentally (??) squirted a gush of sloppy jelly from his sloppy doughnut all over the handlebars. Total and complete devastation. If you know me, you know I like things a certain way. On occasion I can have ridiculously high standards and my bike not being perfect anymore was heart wrenching. I scrubbed and scrubbed but the purple stayed put. If only I could turn back the clock! And get my brother a plate!


Somehow I survived the tragic events of that woeful Christmas morn. I had my bike for a very long time. It came with me, stain and all, to the beach for a few summers where I logged about 10,000 miles on that increasingly less comfy suede seat. Eventually the bright purple stain blended with palm dirt and I realized it wasn't that big a deal after all.


I am a lucky girl. I have the fortune to consider the doughnut incident my most memorable Christmas morning moment. That's because it stood out among all the good. So many joyful days and wishes realized. So very many traditions kept. Warm, comfortable, funny family time that was totally natural and expected. I had a happy childhood. And now I have a happy family of my own. I am a lucky girl.


What is your most memorable holiday moment?