Something About A Chair

It was a cold blistering wind that ran shivers up your spine. My Uncle's chair grew icicles up its legs, with the cushion temping to fall into the snow. It was the christmas celebration of my dad's side of the family, gathered with more than twenty people. The aroma of freshly baked cinnamon raisin cookies mingled in the air, while tacky air freshner of winter pine attached itself onto the clothes of guests. I was 5, my sister 7, and we sat there constantly popping crackers into our mouths, waiting for the gift exchange.

Voices rose, yelling, "It's time!" and everyone navigated towards the most beautiful site of my Aunt's house. The tallest christmas tree, sparkling at every branch, twig, and bark you saw, filled with hanging angels that lit up slowly with an array of colors hovering its halo. The santa of the night, the family member who gives out the gifts one by one, was my cousin Sarah. She picked up the first present she saw, and yelled out, "Sarah Smiley". That night before Christmas, was my first Christmas Eve celebration I would have at my aunts, which would continue on to this day.