Christmastime is Here

The last few years have been a bit bereft of holiday spirit on this blog. In fact, my presence has been a bit absent in general. But I hope to change that. I know I say that every year but there's always a chance that that one of these days I'll have enough time on my hands to simply sit down and write each post and edit without having to worry about fulfilling other duties.

In the meantime, here's a little throwback to the past, even if it isn't Thursday. I remember the last time that I sang this song, Christmastime is Here. It was when I was in elementary school and I was a part of the school choir.  We had just finished performing at a local hotel and as a treat, we had warm mulled apple cider with Christmas-themed shortbread cookies.

This time of the year always makes me a bit emotional. I love all the decorations, the time I get to spend at home. Granted, in this day and age, more emphasis is based on the economic aspects of the holidays but there's something to be said for the feelings and memories the holidays evoke.

Seeing as I had a fairly consistent trend of stories posted during the holiday season, I hope to start that tradition up again. However, I must warn that they will not be the same 'happily ever after' drabbles of the past. While you wait for something new and shocking, here's a holiday recipe that screams of gingerbread, warms fires in the hearth and scented apple spice candles and a poem I posted years ago of fairy-tale dreams for the Love is in the Air Contest on The Mystic Castle and won.

Gingerbread Spice Cake (Courtesy of Smitten Kitchen)

I made this a few years back in a bundt pan and the molasses was dark and sticky and sweet and oh so good with the spice.

The Weaver of Dreams

Crystal pendants, lengths of cloth,

Silken ribbons, cotton soft,

Ruby bracelets, diamond rings,

This and more, the Dreamweaver can bring.

*          *          *

Poor and hungry, a young homeless girl,

At whom, all shopkeepers garbage would hurl.

Unlucky in fate but blessed in dreams,

She could sew a perfect seam.

One day when walking past a dressmaker’s shop,

She was told to work and handed a mop.

As time went on, she learned her craft,

And no one at her ever laughed.

Years passed by slowly without mishap

Until one winter day as she took a nap.

She heard a cry out on the street

Accompanied by the loud patter of feet.

Wondering what the noise was all about,

She put on her shoes and went out.

In the town square, a loom was set up,

With thread of all colors, not one corrupt.

“Dreams for one silver,” the weaver cried,

As he cut lengths of cloth, one foot wide.

“Place it on your pillow during the night,

And when you wake up all will be right.”

Coins rolled in on the spot

As people argued, pushed and fought.

Finally near the end of the day,

To the loom the dressmaker made her way.

“There’s no more cloth left,” the weaver said.

“Except for this tiny piece of thread.”

Shimmering bright, it caught her eye,

So she gave her last penny with a sigh.

Going back home, she fell and got hurt,

Ripping a small hole in her skirt.

Taking out a needle and the Dreamweaver’s thread,

She sewed up the hole and went to bed.

The night passed swiftly without any dreams.

But when the dressmaker awoke to the light of a sunbeam

Dazzling her eyes with a wondrous sight,

Her dress had changed into a gown, all colors bright.

Dressing, she stepped out onto the street,

When at that moment, the king was out for his subjects to meet.

His eyes found the dressmaker’s in a piercing gaze,

Turning her next moments into a haze.

“Tell me, milady, what is your name?”

“Celeste,” she replied, knowing nothing would ever be the same.

“You’re as bright as the moon, please be my queen.”

So Celeste accepted right on the scene.

The Dreamweaver’s magic woke in her heart,

Finding its mark just like a dart.

For only the worthy, fortune would bring

Love’s desired prince and king.