Boldog Karácsonyt
(Bowl♦dog car♦atch♦o♦nt): Happy Christmas
It wasn’t a white Christmas. In fact, the morning started my favorite way: with rain. Toes pressed against the heater, eyes running back and forth across the story that started it all.
And then the last-minute everythings: Proudly lugging home the tiny Christmas tree I bargained for in Hungarian, even though my arm muscles almost gave out. Haphazardly placing ornaments on it’s crooked branches. The tree is tilted, but for some reason that makes me love it all the more.
And then flour, flour everywhere as I frantically try to make my first apple pie from scratch while simultaneously studying some last-minute Hungarian, all in hopes of carrying a conversation at the dinner table. I decide the grammar is hopeless, but the pie doesn’t look half bad–and smells completely delicious!
And then we’re around the dinner table and there’s laughter and photo albums and dessert for miles and it’s lovely.
And then we’re being sent home with heavy bags of Grandma Zsuzsi’s leftovers and passing presents around and there’s hugging and hand holding and more picture taking. I’m sitting on his knee and opening presents while his dog shoots me jealous glares but his mom is looking at me much kinder and my heart is so full.
Because being given a family and warm hugs and a living room and a comfy couch when I am so far away from my own is a sweet, sweet gift.
And then there’s a kiss in the glow of the lights on my crooked, midget tree.
A Merry Christmas Eve, indeed <3
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