Page 2 of Holly Jolly
I took the mixer out of the cabinet and turned it on low, using it to combine all the ingredients to make a nice, dark brown sap. Next up, add the egg yolk, half and half, and then mix it again.
“Don’t forget…”
She acted like I hadn’t done this a thousand times before. “I remember the recipe.”
The flour was measured along with the baking soda and spices and then added to the mixing bowl. The dough became very stiff, but this was normal, and I put a little elbow grease into it.
“You want to do this part, mom?”
She came and stood next to me, forming the dough into a ball and places it in a Ziploc bag and then into the refrigerator.
The flour was a mess, ending up on the floor. Good thing a part of her counter was a cutting board style so most of stuck to that. I took a rag and wipe up all the excess flour around me.
“See, I didn’t forget. How could I with how many times we’ve made this recipe?”
She laughed, and continued putting a thin coat of oil on the baking pan so the cookies won’t stick later.
We embarked down the never-ending loop of chatting about Christmas traditions like caroling as we rolled out the dough and cut out what we were going to use, but leave some for tomorrow.
“Please don’t make me sing in public. I don’t have a good fake smile and people will see right through the facade.”
Her hand slammed down on the counter. “Come on, that’s the best part.”
“I know you love it, but I’m just not in the right head space for that this year. How about after we drop off the toys, we can go walk around the park?” I suggested, knowing she liked to watch the kids ice skating, and enjoying themselves.
“Okay, deal.”
2
Holly
December 23rd
The snow was falling like a blessing, a beautiful white canopy over the streets of downtown Main Street. Everywhere I turned, there was the sight of holiday decorations—evergreen garlands, white lights, and jingling bells—all ushering in the festive cheer of the holiday season. My heart felt heavy, though, remembering the days when I used to celebrate Christmas with my adoptive parents. Those were simpler times, when I thought holidays were all about celebration and good cheer.
The joyous decorations and music only served as a reminder of how much I missed them. Without them, everything just felt so different. None of my friends lived in this town anymore—they were scattered across the country—so days like today just made me miss them even more.
I stopped at each store window, admiring the festive displays and decorations inside as well as the cheerful people passing by. It was comforting in a way to remember that even in times of loss, there will always be moments of joy to be found—even if they are small ones.
I pulled my coat tighter around my body and continued walking towards the Fa La La Christmas Toy Store. Even from a distance, I could see it was bustling with activity. Inside, volunteers were hard at work sorting through all the donations that had been dropped off for those who were less fortunate in our community.
Growing up in foster care had given me the knowledge that many kids didn’t get to celebrate Christmas and as an adult, I wanted to give back as much as I could. I signed up to be a volunteer here and knew that this would be a great way to give back and help make someone’s holiday season just a little bit brighter. I passed by the large windows of the store, watching the volunteers buzzing around and helping out. I was excited to join them, although a part of me felt hollow, as if I was missing something important.
I pushed away the feeling and walked into the store, smiling at those around me. Everyone seemed so happy to be here—it was inspiring to see their joy in giving back and making a difference in someone’s life during this special time of year.
We had twenty five kids in the town in various foster homes and running a Christmas drive to provide them with just a little bit of light made my year. It didn’t matter what I was doing, volunteering was an important part of my life as there wasn’t anything like this when I was growing up.
The store was filled with toys, clothes, books, and other goods for both children and adults alike. It had all been donated from generous members of our community, who wanted to bring some joy into someone else’s life during this holiday season.
My afternoon flew by as I assisted people with their donations; talking with them as they told stories of how they wanted to give back this Christmas or why they chose certain items for their donation boxes. It made me realize how lucky I was to have such wonderful people in my life who were willing to help out those in need.
Fa La La held a special place in my heart because it was one of the only stores that still made toys by hand. They specialized in wood. People came from towns over to purchase their hand crafted trains and other assorted toys every year. Shopping local was such an important thing in our small town as without our support, the corresponding family wouldn't be able to keep afloat and Christmas was no exception.
As I was helping a mother pick out gifts for her children, my eyes kept drifting towards the corner of the store. There sat an elderly man surrounded by carved wooden toys, his wrinkled hand holding a chisel as he worked on another creation.
He wore a red and green plaid shirt with jeans that were frayed at the ends—typical attire for a craftsman such as him. His hands moved gracefully across each piece of wood he touched; creating something beautiful out of raw materials.
He looked up at me and smiled warmly. “Do you like it?” he asked in a hoarse voice.
