The Runaway Christmas Blog

Oh Christmas Tree, My Christmas Tree

This post is part of the Coastal Christmas Blog Hop. I’m feeling a little bit of a fraud because while my story is set at Christmas time, there is no coast in sight, only a river that eventually leads to the ocean.

If you want to track down all the fabulous authors and check out their blog posts you should click here.Don’t forget to enter the Raffecopter to get your awesome prize of a $150 Amazon gift card and more than 30 eBooks from the participating authors.

 

So, this is my turn.

For most of us, Christmas holds memories, some good, perhaps some not so good.

Memory is a powerful thing. It takes us through time. Through memory we can relive the past. It is our memories that help define who we are. We carry our memories into the future, but only so far.

When I think of Christmas as a child, I have some vivid memories that remain clear even after fifty years.

One of my few photographs of my mother with me as a baby.

 

My mother with her little sister.

My mother was a dressmaker in my early years and I remember when I was around four, she made me a ballet tutu out of red taffeta and tule with a vee of sequins down the front. It was the most beautiful thing I ever saw. I can see the glow of the taffeta and the sparkle of the sequins in my memory.  I also remember how tragic it was when I spilled cordial on it and it had to be washed. It was never quite the same afterwards.

The following Christmas, my mother made me school uniforms, which weren’t quite as rapturously received. But she did do something amazing. She found a tumble weed and decorated it as a personalised Christmas Tree using the smallest size balls and fine lengths of tinsel. It looked amazing. At least it does in my memory. There are no photos, even in black and white, because the following year, our house burned down.

The sad thing is that my mother probably doesn’t remember. Her memories are mostly from her childhood now. I’m the only person holding those memories.

 

My little Christmas story is about Holly, who loses her memory after an accident. When Ori finds her, he can’t believe she doesn’t remember the powerful connection between them. With his help, she finds those memories and discovers who she is, piece by piece.

If you’d like to read the story, all the links are here.

 

 

Yesterdays Blog

Tomorrows Blog

 

 

 

 

 

7 comments

  1. O my goodness, My heart aches for you with your mom and her current dementia. I would have loved to have seen a picture of a tumbleweed christmas tree. What a creative lady. Growing up I do remember finding Santa’s bootprint by our back door. It was an amazing feat. Once I was older, I found out that my father had spent hours on his knees painting the boot print by hand.
    Merry Christmas!

  2. Thank you for sharing. That’s why when I work on my genealogy, I include as many pictures I can find. My parents are both gone now but I too have many menories that I’m slowly loosing to MS. However for now, I have much to be thankful for. I have a husband of 44 years, 2 grown sons, and 3 grandbabies to enjoy. I don’t get to see them often but we have fun when we do. My wish for you, enjoy your holidays with what you have. Write down those memories while you can. My dad used to tell a lot of stories. I have so little of them written down. I wish I had more. Merry Christmas from Madison, Indiana, USA.

  3. Hi everyone. I’d like to gift my four commentators with a copy of my Runaway Christmas Elf. Could you please contact me with your preference and an email address at fiona at fionamarsden dot com.

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