Lovin’ The Journey

Just Thinking Lovin’ the Journey

by Mark Holloway

Christmas is a glorious season. The word ‘glorious’ sounds like an old fashioned word a grandma would say while sipping tea in her parlor room. I’m thankful I had a normal upbringing. Whatever normal means…

Actually, I celebrated Christmas in many different places in the world. That might not be so normal. But I had a normal family. A mom and dad, a brother and sister and various dogs, a kudamundi and maybe a turtle. I grew up knowing my grandparents, cousins, aunts and uncles. Christmas was a festive time. Normal for me was being surrounded by talented women who knew how to cook. I married young. I was 21. Carol was younger. She was 18. Even as a teenager, I married a woman who was skilled in the kitchen. Her mom Charlotte was German and between my gourmet mom Sylvia and Charlotte, feasts were fabulous. In Mexico City we lived far away from normal shopping options. So we’d all drive across the boarder into Texas and shop. My dad bought my brother and me matching bicycles which had steering wheels instead of handle bars. Not a good idea. Helmets weren’t included.

One year my brother prematurely pulled the trigger on his new BB gun trying to shoot an apple off my head. The projectile imbedded itself in a knuckle on my left hand as the apple passed in front of my eye on the way to the top of my six year old head. Stephen was seven years old. Boys and Christmas BB guns and steering wheeled bicycles. Perfect. Did I mention my dad was a decorated combat veteran officer? He lived on the edge, I reckon. He raised us much the same. I fell face first off the back of a go-cart onto the asphalt street in front of our home at Ft. Benning. I was four. Yep. A neighborhood kid got the cart for Christmas. I wore scabs on my chin, nose and forehead for New Years. When I was 12, the Holloway Five traversed with our camper from Kansas to Ft. Lewis, Washington. We stopped for Christmas in Aspen Colorado.

Somehow my mom hid every single Christmas present in that camper. She was amazing.

I don’t know if my little sister Susan remembers much about Christmases in Mexico or Aspen.

But certainly she remembers our Hawaiian and

German holiday celebrations.

Christmas in the mountains is the best.

I always carve the turkey. I assist in the sampling of goodies and delicacies before they make it into the general populace. It’s a burden on me but I’m holding up well. My grandmother passed her Carmel Cake recipe down to me. This famous desert will be making an appearance. I might wear an apron. I’m hoping my daughter will rename it: The Marky Mark Cake. Wherever family is…is the best. Food is good. But family is best. Memories of holidays past are wonderful and the ones to come are glorious to ponder. The fragrance of this season, the yumminess of Carol’s kitchen, the José requisite song playing in the stores…it’s all good. Maybe a sleigh ride in the snow one day too. We have enjoyed two white Christmases since moving here in 2007. Jesus wasn’t born in December. But it certainly is a good time to celebrate His arrival and offer to redeem me to His Father.

BB guns, bicycles, eggnog, pumpkin pie, a cozy fire in the living room wood stove …these are a few of what captivates my thoughts as winter approaches. José would remind you: Feliz Navidad, y’all. See you on the trail.

Mark and Carol Holloway are outdoor adventurers and love the thrills of rock climbing and hikes to waterfalls and exploring all of God’s creation. They own PropertyStewards.com and are passionate about delivering excellent care to the homes and property of their clients. For More Information call 706-949-5937