Merry Christmas! Happy Holidays! The Write Practice will be on hiatus from December 23 through January 1.
In the meantime, feel free to participate in this Christmas writing prompt below, and share your practice with us in the practice box below.
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PRACTICE
Write about a memorable Christmas or holiday moment (either a moment you experienced, a moment experienced by someone you know, or a moment one of your fictional characters experienced).
For today's practice, write for fifteen minutes. When your time is up, share your practice the Pro Practice Workshop and if you share, please be sure to leave feedback for other writers.
Happy writing and happy holidays!
Joe Bunting is an author and the leader of The Write Practice community. He is also the author of the new book Crowdsourcing Paris, a real life adventure story set in France. It was a #1 New Release on Amazon. Follow him on Instagram (@jhbunting).
Want best-seller coaching? Book Joe here.
Christmas,
a time of family, friends and stopped-up sinks.
I really don’t remember if this was at
Christmas or Thanksgiving, but it’s a good Christmas story anyway.
Brian and I had just moved back from
Ireland in August 1990. Our friends, Alberta and Gordon had gifted us with a
basket of goodies: Paper towels, laundry soap, lots of kitchen utensils, all
the things we would need to start our lives over in America.
Aunts and Uncles came on Christmas
day. Aunt Carleen brought a distant cousin, a truck driver who was passing
through town.
I had invited a woman with whom I
worked and her Hell’s Angel boyfriend.
Mom and
Dad were there – it was a fun gathering. The presents were opened. The turkey
was eaten, the pies consumed, and we retired to the kitchen to wash dishes –
but the sink was plugged, completely and totally plugged!
We stood around the sink wondering
what to do. There were only two options. We could ignore the dishes. Mom and
the aunts weren’t going to leave me with all that, so we chose the other
option: We washed the dishes in the small claw foot bathtub.
Laughing and giggling, the dishes got
washed. Well, no. The dishes weren’t laughing and giggling, although they may
have been. We just couldn’t hear them.
It was a fun Christmas, our first back
in the States.
I know I’ve merged several incidents
and celebrations, but that’s how I remember it. That’s how I WANT to remember
it.
Merry Christmas, and have a Happy
Holiday, whatever you happen to be celebrating at this time of year.
I’m going to keep writing because my
15 minutes isn’t over yet.
qOther
family members attending were Pete, Mad Maggie Hicks, and Turtle, the doggie
and two kitties we brought from Ireland.
I have 2 minutes left. I will use that
time to fix all the typos.
Loved this story. Your description of the small claw foot bathtub reminded me of the one we had in our small New York apartment when we first arrived to the United States and where we spent a few Christmases there.
When my kids were small and we lived in a small apartment, it was hard to explain how the reindeer and Santa were going to land on the balcony. Eureka! When they were distracted I reached out the window and tipped the lettuce and food we had left for Santa’s reindeer overt he edge. I said to the kids, “Look the reindeer ate their treats. Go out on the balcony and look for them.” The kids went out and we placed the Christmas presents while they looked for the reindeer and Santa. When they came back in, the look in their eyes warmed something so deep inside my wife and I that it still remains there. Thanks Santa and Merry Christmas to everyone out there.
Quick thinking there Dad. Love the story.
Loved this story. Truly beautiful at depicting the magic of Christmas.
Couldn’t get more magic than that…
That was beautiful!!!
Thx. So nice a time of year. Now it’s my grand kids…
“Is this some kind of joke?” I said to my mother as I opened my gift. The pink box had a sweater inside. It was red and had green and yellow stripes all over it. What a mess!
“Be a good granddaughter and wear it for the party. For grandma” she said. I frowned as I wondered what would my friends think of it. I had a hard time making friends and leaving others behind. All my effort for nothing, I thought.
“But Tara’s and Jacob’s relatives are coming to dinner. I can’t be seen it this rag! I won’t go at all” I shouted and crossed my arms. I glanced at the crystal chandelier above me, the fake lights twinkled.
“You forgot about.” her smile was scaring me. “David”
My mouth was wide open and my cheeks flushed deep red.
“You didn’t..” I said.
“I’m not asking you Emma, you are going to the party in that sweater. You will not ruin Grandma’s Christmas” she confidently said.
Mother left, slowly closing the door. I felt like crying but I knew my cheap mascara wouldn’t last for long. I was alone in my parent’s bedroom.
I dressed bitterly. I approached the mirror and scanned myself. It didn’t look like a sweater, more like a very colorful poncho. My white jeans brightened the look a bit. I still hated it with all my heart.
I heard a bang at the door.
“Emma?” An utterly familiar voice said.”It’s me. David. Your father sent me here to tell you that we are about to begin. Do you need help with something?”he politely offered. “What is wrong with the universe” I mumbled to myself.
I slowly opened the door ( the door was covering most of my body). He was wearing a light blue polo, cute white trousers and an adorable Santa hat.
“Awesome Emma! Is that a poncho? It sure looks lovely on you” he promptly said. “Shall we?
My mouth hung open and my body relaxed. Thank you Grandma, I thought as David an we joined the Christmas Party.
A story with a little too much situational irony.
Richard was laid off, had been laid off since the baby was born last spring. Between the two older toddlers and nursing the baby Abigail couldn’t work either. It looked like Christmas was going to be pretty bleak. Abigail worried there wouldn’t even be Christmas fruit and candy for the stockings, so she rode Richard to apply for the food stamp program.
Richard’s pride as the protector and provider for his family kept him from giving in. His dad finally convinced him it wouldn’t be taking charity. Richard had already paid for those food stamps through all the taxes the government had taken out while he was working. So in early October he loaded up the Olds with wife and kids and paperwork and headed to the Food Stamp office. It was embarrassing sitting there with all the other families who chatted about their regular visits to obtain free this and that. One talked about her welfare check, another about her boyfriend who wouldn’t pay child support. Richard just sat there, waiting as the humiliation mounted.
Two hours later Richard, Abigail and kids left the office with a promise that the food stamps would be there by December 2nd. Abigail was relieved. She was a praying woman and she had prayed God would make Richard see they needed to apply for this help. Richard felt lower than the proverbial ant swinging his legs off the edge of the newspaper.
Abigail began to prepare for Thanksgiving and Christmas. She kept up with the grocery store points for a free Thanksgiving turkey. She watched the ads making sure to purchase holiday food items when they were on sale. She used her spare time to make cross stitch and crochet gifts for family and friends. Thanksgiving came and went with a bountiful table. The food stamps for Christmas would be here next week.
Each Christmas we traipsed out as a family for the dreaded Christmas tree selection. Dreaded? Yes, dreaded. No, make that DREADED.
My younger brother and I were late comers to the party meaning we were born when our parents were older than the average age of parents of children our ages. This discrepancy between ages for parent and their offspring led to some agitation rendered by the younger of us. Filled with anticipation and more energy than a jet plane, Brad could not be still. And did I mention he could ask 1,000 questions per minute? Well, he could.
A chance came into play this particular Christmas. Daddy decided Mom could take the two of us tree shopping. In my mind, this made the entire effort almost next to impossible. Mom and Brad were cut from the same mold–high energy, easily excitable, and verbose.
The morning of our tree shopping day dawned with snow falling lightly outside our windows. Not to be daunted, Mom decided we’d head out as soon as breakfast was down. Bundled to the point of immoveability, we took off to the nearest tree lot to check prices. Living in the South, tree prices tended to be a bit higher than the average tree in other parts of the country.
After checking prices and inventory at six lots, Mom decided on a beautiful Noble fir. To me it looked as if it might be taller than our living room ceiling. I mentioned my assessment and promptly was told to mind my own business. No matter this had been advertised as a group shopping experience.
Determined to prove she could handle anything a man could, Mom drug the tree, with our help, into the garage where she affixed the tree stand to the Noble’s trunk. Then we had to navigate through the doorway into the kitchen, then through the dining room, around a corner or two, and into the living room. We had already been told the tree HAD to stand next to the fireplace.
Miraculously, we made it to the corner without scratching a wall, pending a lamp or dining chair, and stood the tree upright on its stand. Whoa! The ceiling stopped us about a foot shy of getting the top of the tree up. I knew better than to say “I told you so.” I would have been spending Christmas in Alaska, thanks to a pop across the mouth, if I had.
Mom decided we’d best leave well enough alone and wait for Daddy to get home from work. When she showed Daddy our problem, I could tell by the glint in his eyes he wanted to laugh but knew better. He told Mom he’d be right back. Daddy came back with his trusty saw and laid down on his tummy.
Next thing we knew he was sawing a few branches away from the bottom of the tree. After about four or five had come off, Mom screamed at him to stop. “You’re ruining my tree!”
“Well, the best place to trim is at the bottom since the top of the tree is so beautiful.”
“But I think the best part is the lower branches, and now you’ve ruined it.”
I quietly took Brad by the hand and headed down the hallway to my room. I’d seen these scenarios play out before. I knew this argument would escalate to a level that could ruin Christmas for the next couple of weeks. No need for us to get in the middle of it.
Brad wanted to know what went wrong. I just grinned at him and made sure he understood what “Daddy just stepped in it” meant.
hi, i want to tell u all a story, which is so intresting that u all will like it………she cut a cake on the christmas night..and was so elated and happy, i felt joyous to hear her…although she belonged to non christian family,, i felt xtremely touching and a lesson we all can learn, to celebrate every festival of all religion,…and learn from them the essence of celebrating it….and live and enjoy it………
Each Christmas we traipsed out as a family for the dreaded Christmas tree selection. Dreaded? Yes, dreaded. No, make that DREADED.
My younger brother and I were late comers to the party. We were born when our parents were older than the average age of parents of children our ages. Filled with anticipation and more energy than a jet plane, Brad could not be still. And did I mention he could ask a thousand questions per minute? Well, he could. With older than average parents, Brad could bring the tension level rising.
A change came into play this particular Christmas. Daddy decided Mom could take the two of us tree shopping. In my mind, this made the entire effort almost next to impossible. Mom and Brad were cut from the same mold–high energy, excitable, and verbose.
The morning of our shopping day dawned with snow falling lightly outside our windows. Undaunted by the weather, Mom decided we’d head out as soon as breakfast was down. Bundled to the point of immobility, we took off to the nearest tree lot to check prices.
After checking prices and inventory at six lots, Mom decided on a beautiful Noble fir. To me it looked as if it might be taller than our living room ceiling. I mentioned my assessment and promptly was told to mind my own business. No matter this had been advertised as a group shopping experience.
Mom loved to prove she could do anything a man could. She proceed to take the tree out of the trunk of the car. Then she drug the tree into the garage where she placed it in the tree stand. We helped her navigate it through the doorway into the kitchen. Then through the dining room, around a corner or two, and into the living room. The tree HAD to stand next to the fireplace.
Miraculously, we made it to the corner without damage to the interior of the house. Whoa! The ceiling stopped us about a foot shy of getting the top of the tree up. I knew better than to say “I told you so.” I would have been spending Christmas in Alaska, thanks to a pop across the mouth, if I had.
Mom decided we’d best leave well enough alone and wait for Daddy to get home from work. When she showed Daddy our problem, I could tell by the glint in his eyes he wanted to laugh but knew better. He told Mom he’d be right back. Daddy came back with his trusty saw and laid down on the floor.
Next thing we knew he was sawing a few branches away from the bottom of the tree. About four or five had come off when Mom screamed at him to stop. “You’re ruining my tree!”
“Well, the best place to trim is at the bottom since the top of the tree is so beautiful.”
“But I think the best part is the lower branches, and now you’ve ruined it.” Mom’s face turned red, her green eyes blazed, and the veins in her neck pulsated. All singles the big rage was coming!
I took Brad by the hand and headed down the hallway to my room. I’d seen these scenarios play out before. I knew this argument would escalate to a level ruining Christmas for the next couple of weeks. No need for us to get in the middle of it.
Brad wanted to know what went wrong. I just grinned at him and made sure he understood what “Daddy just stepped in it” meant.
Couldn’t it have been a general holidays or winter prompt? Making it Christmas-specific is exclusionary to non-Christians and people who don’t celebrate Christmas. I would have hoped The Write Practice would be more aware of the diversity of their followers and made sure they know their holiday traditions and experiences are valued in this community.
Hahaha! Lucky you!!! I’m an atheist surrounded by firm believers. And I just tell myself, “So long as there’s a day off and the fun food, who cares what they call it?” monetization of this event is slightly excessive, but otherwise – multiple reasons to like it, even if you don’t belong to the Jesus’ fandom. Beautiful houses, everybody is in generally better spirits, families come together. I don’t think religious or non-religious barriers can affect the truth of the 25th of December as a date or a party day. It’s a personal choice to let yourself enjoy this day, because it is winter solstice time – fact (well 22nd – but the day changed due to the changes of cosmic activity, not human invention). Meaning, the spring is coming. The darkest time is over. Calls for celebration.
I think Christmas has become so commercialized anyway–I’m Hindu and our family just “celebrates” Christmas because it’s become kind of secular. We have a long holiday in South Africa, so we may as well invite family over and be jolly.
It’s best to just make the most of it!
if you’re a non-Christian then you celebrate it in a secular manner, if you want to. It would be your choice. It seems to me that this IS a winter prompt, except that it revolves around the Christmas holiday. You can always write from the POV of one of your fictional characters as the prompt suggests or write nothing at all.
Respectfully, I disagree; a Christmas-specific prompt doesn’t exclude anyone. Jesus, the center of the meaning of Christmas, represents the very essence of grace, mercy, and acceptance to those who accept Him. He opens His arms to everyone, no matter our past, no matter what we will do in the future. However, even if you don’t believe in Christianity, Christmas for the non-Christian can still mean spending time with loved ones and being together.
Additionally, if the Write Practice was somehow restricted from providing us with Christmas writing prompts for fear of excluding non-Christians, would that not be excluding those who do believe in Christianity?
The kids were all grown up, each living thousands of miles away from me and from each other. Preparing for Christmas, which for years had been a big, joyful month-long event, just had no sparkle or appeal for me that year. My holiday spirit, had it been possible to measure, would most surely have been in the minus column. The prospect of spending Christmas alone, without my family, weighed heavily on my heart, Although I did my best to avoid thinking about it…
And yet, as it happened, that became a truly joy-filled Christmas. Reflecting on it now, my face is glowing with a mile-wide smile. Our Unity Minister suggested that anyone who was available, meet at church Christmas morning to deliver Holiday Greetings, small gifts and Christmas Carols to others who might be spending Christmas far from friends and family.
With big grins on our faces, an assortment of holiday hats on our heads, and attitudes of gratitude we visited 2 nursing homes and a rehab center. Singing carols and connecting with the people we met that day filled me with joy. We brought smiles, tears and happiness to those who hadn’t been expecting visitors. So when we all trouped in, caroling away and connecting with each of them eye to eye, smile to smile, heart to heart, the day became alive. -For them, and for us-
As for me, I didn’t need a measuring device to confirm that I was truly filled with the Spirit of Christmas.
All so true, Michelle. I liked your story very much. It has always been better to give than to receive.
I also enjoyed reading your story just moments ago. For me it was always far easier to give than to receive, but I am learning also to graciously receive. I now see giving and receiving as circular and have come to understand the value in allowing others to experience the joy of giving as well as receiving..
I have to admit, I struggle to remember when X-mas was still magical. My parents are orthodox christians, meaning the Christmas comes 2 weeks later on the 7th of January. There is no presents, no day off, no Santa. It’s “just another day” when you go to special church gatherings and congratulate each other on the birth of the holy baby. For a child it was pretty far from being filled-with-joy. If anything I felt the awe on Christmas. The New Year was much more significant though, since Father Frost visited and left presents under the decorated pine-tree. Parents would hold a huge party, cooking the tastiest food that they could come up with. So my values were pretty straight. Holy stuff for the holy day, debauchery for the mascarade-party day. I still find it funny, how Catholics do the “shake’n’bake” version of my world on the 25th of December. But this story isn’t complete without mentioning my children.
I would love to do the same for them: segregate the imaginary Santa and the spiritual Jesus part. But I can’t. I have moved from one country to the other with a different boardgame rules. Not following those rules would hurt them as any non-conformity bothers children.
We do it all: Santa, elves, (c’me on, an elf got caught in our trap. Exchanged his freedom for cookies, bright-eyes.) songs about Rudolf, and yummy super-supper with my Catholic family-in-law. And I know it looks fancy and dazzling for my babies. But my heart is not in it. I guess it doesn’t help that I’m anti-religious person in the core on top of everything mentioned above.
So I think for us – not Catholics, Xmas is one conflicted time. We enjoy it. We savour the spoils it brings, such as a day-off, beautiful decorations, presents, smiles of strangers, lovely boxing day sales. And we feel it is wrong to go that demonic, unbridled festive over a quiet and rather private event.
Isn’t that a fascinating collision of cultures? How am I supposed to navigate my offspring through the teaching of religions, my own view on it and cultural differences on top? I’m scared to leave my kids without the heritage of magic, that makes profound imprint on the young minds, but I don’t enjoy the ambiguity I am caught in. There is no right answer to this matter, only the choices I make. As Morpheus said, “The problem is choice, Neo.”
Puzzle me a puzzle, puzzler. Riddle me a riddle.
http://www.amazon.com/Reindeer-like-bananas-illustrated-children-ebook/dp/B016QWVADG/ref=sr_1_64?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1451079750&sr=1-64&keywords=reindeer
The celebration of Christmas for me had its importance when I was young and I
followed my family tradition to re-enact the nativity. The tradition started
before Christmas day and with the building of the nativity scene made from figurines.
Each day closure to Christmas day we added more parts of the scene till it was
build in full Christmas Eve.
My grandmother had planned this even since before I was born, by naming my older
and younger sibling accordingly. My second oldest brother was named Joseph, my
older sister was named Mary, my youngest brother was named Paolo, and his role
was to be the new born Jesus. The oldest brother was to take the role of the Ox
keeping the new born warm with his breath and the Donkey was my uncle (My
uncle, never liked that role but he could not argue with Grandma, for a change
of role, she was always very convincing in her arguments)
I with a name like Angelo, clearly identify my messenger role. My duty besides bringing in news was also to co-ordinate the arrival of the three Wise Men with gifts, while
making sure King Herod could not find the new born baby Jesus and kill him. Gifts
original purpose was to remind us of the presents given to Jesus by the three
Wise Men: Frankincense, Gold and Myrrh. The toys where and add on feature developed later after Christmas if the children had behaved well during the past year.
Wonderful Christmas memory! Christmas has become so commercialized. It was uplifting this year to experience being in Latin America, which still celebrates Christmas as you describe it, with the emphasis on Jesus rather than gifts.
Here’s my memorable Christmas moment:
THE UNEXPECTED CHRISTMAS CARD
It’s Christmas time; not a good time of the year on a personal basis. This religious event has changed on so many levels for me over the years; I visualize it as just a regular day of the week now. I remember when I used to look forward to its arrival. I remember enjoying the expression on a child’s face as he or she talked about Santa Claus. It was electrifying and magical. All of that has become commercialized, and the magical feeling surrounding Christmas has almost completely vanished, until an unexpected
Christmas card was delivered to my home this year.
I picked up the mail as customary and noticed a bigger than usual white envelope. Not recognizing the sender’s name or address, I also noticed only my home address and no addressee. I figured it was some advertisement from a newly opened neighborhood gym or spa. Removing a card from the envelope, I saw a black and white picture of three young girls posing next to each other. They looked like sisters. The two girls at either end of the picture looked like twins. I calculated that they were around nine or
ten-years-old while the one in the middle seemed to be around seven or eight.
Going on what I’d seen, I concluded it was an advertisement for children’s clothing, but when I focused more closely on the card, it became clear that it was a Christmas card because of the wording underneath the girls’ picture—Wishing you peace, health and prosperity in 2016. Still confused and thinking the card had been delivered to us by accident, I looked again inside the white envelope and found a smaller green envelope that contained a handwritten note that read:
My daughters and I look for you every day when we drive by your house on our way to school. We see you standing by your door and you brighten our day. At the
behest of my daughters, I’m sending you this holiday card hoping you like it.
Laura, Lily, Jessie and Beth
It became clear to me that the card’s sender was referring to my mother who suffers from dementia and who stands by the door every morning waiting for her ride to the adult day care center she attends during the week.It was one of the most beautiful gestures from a total stranger toward my mother I had ever experienced. When I told my mother about the special Christmas card that had been sent to her, a big smile lit up her face. The magic was back. Laura and her daughter’s gesture showed that the true spirit of Christmas was still very much alive and that angels truly walk amongst us.
What a beautiful and kind thing to do! It really does show the true spirit of Christmas.
Wolf, thanks a bunch for reading my post and for taking the time out to comment.
You are very welcome Claire 🙂
How lovely! Your story touched me deeply and I am so happy that Christmas magic came back for both you and your mother.
Michelle, thanks for taking the time to read my little contribution and for your comment.
That’s so sweet! 🙂
Love Christmas. Nice story.
Thanks for your comment, Michael.
The guilt pushed me so I went ahead and ordered them a cheese and salami basket for Christmas. The money didn’t matter, I was just absorbed in the decision of what to do. It’s Christmas after all, it was important to do the right thing. Christmas day arrived and no word on the gift, I knew they received it but there was no call or text or note of ‘thanks’. That’s ok, I still did the right thing. My little family went about the holiday, having fun with our fun adult kids, eating, snacking, sharing and enjoying. As the day wore on, I decided to take the spirit of giving a step further and give them a call. The phone rang and Mom answered in a knowing voice, ‘Merry Christmas’ she answered. ‘Hi Mom, Hi Nana, Hi!’ we all yelled. ‘Merry Christmas! How are you?’ ‘Well I am as busy as ever’ she replied. ‘I am cooking ham, rolls, salad, pie and potatoes and we are having the neighbors over and we are so busy you just wouldn’t believe it’ she rattled on. And then silence. The four of us made various attempts at small talk, asking questions, wishing her and my step-father well, but she wasn’t playing. The conversation was done and I was left with the pain of a broken relationship. And yet I was free. I did what I could, did what I knew was best, I tried to be kind. This was my parents feeble attempt at a payback, at making me pay for not doing what they wanted me to do. It’s always been something. Countless holidays before this, I was the groomed solider and did what I was told. This pattern started another lifetime ago but took me years of therapy and support to step back and say no – no to their wild Christmas demands, put downs, alcoholism, and toxic ways. Just a simple no. With my push back, I had stopped the pain. This year, my giving included taking care of me, something I had wished for since I was a little girl. Full of joy and gratitude, I felt the spirit of love from the inside out. Christmas was finally mine. Lucky me.
I’m a bit late getting to the Christmas Writing Prompt but a few of your stories jogged a long (I thought) forgotten memory. I’d gotten out of alcohol rehab on August 26, 1979, and it was to be my first sober Christmas in a very long time. Doing my second round of ninety meetings in ninety days, AA had finally convinced me that Christmas was just another day, and of all their self-help slogans that was by far the most depressing. I’d never make it. Christmas was too important to be just another day. There was the annual breakfast at my sister’s, mimosas from oranges flown up from Florida only a week before. The whole family together, reminiscing over old times. Later we’d drive (no designated drivers back then) out to my brother’s for cocktails, dinner and carol sing-alongs, our bartender Dad pouring exotic cordials to lubricate our vocal chords, the time-worn stories of the five of us kids growing up during the depression, what my parents described as “the good old days,” As mundane as it sounds today, it WAS Christmas and the only way I’d ever known how to celebrate it. How could I make it “just another day?”
The morning dawned cold and clear and I awoke dreading every coming minute. Somehow I had to get through Christmas Day without a drink. It was just another day. At my sister’s I mingled among my siblings, their children and our parents, seeing little but trays of orange juice and champagne; mostly champagne. But I somehow managed to drink only the juice and leave right after breakfast. Shaky but clear-headed, I returned to my apartment and tuned into the Metropolitan Opera’s Annual Christmas presentation of Hansel and Gretel. The music worked its magic and when it was over I said the serenity prayer and headed up to my brother’s for the highlight of the day. The pre-dinner hours were the hardest. Coke without rum was a drink for a wuss and I had been anything but in my day. And, of course, I had lots of prompting from the family to have something just because it was Christmas. One won’t hurt they said raucously. One will kill I said silently, because with me there was no such thing as one. Finally dinner was on the table, I gave an Oscar-winning rendition of being my old self and left, dignity intact, as soon as I could get away.
Back in town I headed straight to my local AA meeting and collapsed into a chair giving thanks for getting through the day. I knew if I could survive that first Christmas I may have a shot at making it. And here I am, thirty-six sober Christmases later, eighty years old, and about to begin a new chapter of my life as, of all things, a writer.
Thanks, Joe, for the prompt.
Mary
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