STAIRS

The magical basement.  This name was reserved only once a year for the basement of my aunt's house, when Christmas Eve peered out through frosted windows, celebrated alongside steamy cups of cocoa and snuggled into with warm blankets.  As Christmas Eve came around, my sister and I would imagine all the glory  that awaited us down the carpeted stairs of my aunt's home.  We would sit at the top of those stairs, holding hands, unabashedly ready to pounce down the stairs to discover what store of treasures awaited us. The grown-ups always had first access to the basement, making sure that everything was in order below.  Finally, after resting for an egregiously long period of time, the word finally came, "You can come down now!" Lisa and I practically flew down the stairs, disregarding the wooden banister as we took the stairs two, sometimes three, at a time.  As we rounded the corner of the stairs, socks sliding over the linoleum of the basement floor, the Christmas tree would beckon us with twinkling lights and home-made ornaments, constructed with pop-sickle sticks and tissue paper.  To our elementary-school selves, the pile of presents seem to reach to the ceiling, though in reality, there were a few boxes for each family member.  The awe and exciting of a bare basement, suddenly transformed into this winter wonderland, made it magical to us.  As I look back now though, it wasn't just the presents and tree that was magical.. Those moments encapsulated times of family unity, or love and affection that, although visible through the gifts at hand, was most preciously felt through through the hugs, the snuggles, the joy of loving, and giving, and living, which lingers still today, sending a soft smile across my face