NYE, 2015

 It was our first NYE together and, being that the mountains were lackluster in their choices of events and parties, we decided on Duluth.  To my surprise, this was a different Duluth than the one printed on my Duluth Trading work t-shirts.

I was surprised that at their festival there would be a free concert, and y’all know how I love live music. Not only was it a concert, but it was the Brothers Osborne. Matty had booked us a room at the Best Western for the weekend.

This adventure kicked off as most of mine did, in an old, gas-eating, slightly drafty black Jeep. I made my way down I-85, and this time I didn’t miss my exit.

It was one of those red-nosed, hand-blowing, knitted-hat nights. We arrived at the festivities, parked away from the crowd, and made our way to the sights. In the town square, food trucks lined the curbs, kids wove through the crowd, and there was a strong smell of coffee mixed with hot chocolate. We joined a line and shuffled toward a meal whose thin plate warmed our hands.

We nudged and inched our way toward the stage and landed just a couple of rows from the band. What do I remember from that concert?  Her gloved hand in mine, our eyes meeting, her hair falling against my coat, and our last first New Year’s midnight kiss. Oh, and Brothers Osborne was there to provide a high-energy soundtrack to our personal fireworks.

We quickly made our way through the chilly drizzle to Matty’s car which seemed a mile away.  I delighted in splashing in the puddles on the sidewalk while catching a couple of side eyes. We made it halfway when…

Matty: My ears are cold — where’s my knitted hat?

Philip: (Pats coat pockets, pants pockets, panics.) Ummm… ummm…

M: Didn’t you put it in your back pocket?!

P: Wondering which puddle it was currently lying in. 

M: …

P: Ummm…. Sorry?

Christmas Lightsabers

 

It was a small apartment located a quick walk from downtown Brevard. The type where you could stand in the hallway and touch the bathroom door, both bedroom doors, and the kitchen bar. The space normally allocated for a dishwasher was occupied by a stacked washer/dryer—the door kinda latched and you’d get the random piece of clothing thrown at you.

I enjoyed walking to downtown, especially at Christmas. On those walks I relished in the mountain air, so cold you could see your breath, people bustling about from small shop to small shop, the steady flow of amber-lit snowflakes mounted to light poles, and a Christmas tree at least 20 feet tall with ornaments the size of my face.

Inside the apartment, Elle and I had decorated a three-foot-tall tree that sat beside a black IKEA cube-style bookshelf. The multi-colored lights danced along the mustard yellow walls. Her stocking was pinned to the wall, and a UNC blue Elf on the Shelf kept careful watch over the whole scene.

The week before Christmas, all of my shopping was done and we had nothing but time on our hands. This time, Elle and I drove the Jeep to downtown Brevard and saw the new Star Wars movie at the one-screen Co-Ed Cinema. She was so enthralled with the film that she clapped at the end. We took another short drive to Marco Trattoria for some very good Italian food to round out the night.

This Christmas was also mine and Matty’s first Christmas together. We were in the beginning of our journey together. She was going to spend the first part of it with her family, then drive up to spend the rest with me. Leading up to Christmas, it was all I could do to contain my excitement. I felt like a six-year-old sneaking a 2am peek at the living room to see if Santa had shown up yet.

Christmas arrived with shiny wrapped gifts, a stocking full of candy and small trinkets, milk and cookies carefully placed on the bar, and wrapping paper strewn about the living room. Elle, at her young age and with her own money, had purchased me a koozie and a football-themed ceiling-fan chain pull.

After a dark multi-hour drive through Atlanta, parts of South Carolina, and some of WNC, Matty arrived. I met her in the parking lot and helped her bring presents and bags up the stairs and into the apartment. With limited funds, we exchanged presents. She gifted me a Tervis tumbler adorned with the same Star Wars characters that Elle and I had watched earlier in the week, and a couple of boxes of my favorite cereal!

The next morning I thought I heard a creak and a cracking. No, it must have been my imagination. But, there it was again, I definitely heard something. I then realized what was happening. That minuscule apartment was bursting at the seams from all the joy, love, and Christmas magic that it had held.

Smitten for a Mitten

It was a cold, dark, and slightly damp early December night, the exact date being lost to the echoes of time. As a family, it was decided that the Christmas tree would be a real one. Not one of those fake K-Mart trees that the branches snapped in and the needles never really spread out. 

I was bundled up in a heavy winter coat, a knit hat, cowboy boots (with duct tape on the bottom to keep me from slipping and sliding), and mittens.  The family piled into the car and off we went!  On the side of the road was a tree salesman.  I scooted and waddled out of the car doing my best Stay Puft Marshmallow Man imitation.

Beneath the full moon and string lights, we searched for the perfect tree. Some were too short, some too tall, some too round, and others too lean.  Out of nowhere, a light shone on a tree in the middle of the lot and we worked our way towards it.  It was our Goldilocks tree. Just right. 

My dad looked down at me and asked for one of my mittens. I begrudgingly pulled it off and handed it to him. Being the giant of a man that he was (almost six feet tall!) he placed my mitten at the top of the tree.  There it was, a wooly fabric star looking down on me and my now freezing left hand.

What did he just say?  We’re going to look at the other trees?! To make sure??  

Glad he has both of his gloves. 

It was an eternity of checking every other tree on the lot to make sure the mitten tree was truly the one, instead of some random tree propped up in a corner. We finally returned to retrieve my hand covering and buy that tree. I gingerly pulled the mitten onto my hand and felt the blood defrost and begin to flow again. 

We loaded up the tree, climbed in the car and headed home. The next day it was decorated with multi-colored lights, shiny garland, handmade and store-bought ornaments, and silver, stringy icicles.  I heard someone say that next year we would have to get another real tree.

I guess that would be ok as long as Dad used his glove to mark the tree.