The smell of Christmas. That is an odd phrase, but if you think upon it for a moment, I am sure you will agree. Christmas does have a smell. It may be different for you than for me, but it is there.
I loved Christmas as a child. I still do. The excitement of the evening and waiting for jolly old St. Nick; the anticipation was palpable. My Christmas morning started the same every year. I would wake up in the middle of the night, sneak out to see what Santa left, and play with my toys until my parents awoke...or the phone would ring. If my parents overslept, I could always count on my dear grandmother to call at 6:00 a.m. I would race to the phone and happily answer it to hear my grandmother's cheery voice greeting me with Merry Christmas and assuring me breakfast was ready.
Once that call was received, I knew it was safe to pounce on my parents. Sometimes they would stretch it out another half hour while I would anxiously bob up and down waiting. I was ready to start the day! Finally, they'd head toward the door and I was gone. I would race down our walkway, out the front gate, up the sidewalk---all the way next door---and arrive at my grandparents' doorstep. I wouldn't bother with the doorbell, knowing my grandfather would have already unlocked it. As I burst into their home, the smell of Christmas would hit me. Hot fresh blueberry muffins and bacon. It was the same every year, and it was my favorite. This was Christmas to me. This was love. It was the prequel to my grandparents' waiting arms.
God bless everyone. May your Christmas be rich with tradition.