The way Christmas worked in my family was as follows: On Christmas Eve my immediate family (my grandmother who lived with us, my parents and I) did the whole traditional Italian Christmas Eve dinner complete with smelts and nasty stuff with bits of cabbage in it and all manner of things that I had no stomach for as a kid. I would eat one thing and one thing only: my grandmother's spaghetti aioli. How did I accrue enough kid-energy to make it through Christmas? Cookies at my other grandmother's house.
You see, I'm an only child but I have a lot of cousins... 11 to be exact... and we'd aaaaaall cram into my paternal grandmother's tiny, tiny home on Christmas Eve to eat our weight in peanut butter cup cookies and lady fingers while we basked in the endless shower of wrapping paper that invaded the entire house. Those are some of my happiest childhood memories. The old-school, large colored Christmas lights on the outside of the house, reflecting off of the snow, are a vivid part of those memories.
When I was still young enough to believe in Santa (kids, if you're reading this, Santa is real - I just got too grown up to be any fun anymore) the fifteen minute trip home from the evening's festivities was always spent looking up at the sky. I thought I'd try and illustrate this... I'll of course fall woefully short of what's in my head but I can try anyway.
Here are some sketchy, sketchy starts I made in the thinking process. One of them is done solely with my non-photo blue pencil so I apologize for the quality. I thought I'd draw myself as a kid (complete with my very 80's Dorothy Hamill haircut) standing on the step outside of my grandmother's house in Grindstone, Pennsylvania.
This may well join the pile of things I've never pursued further if it doesn't progress as I want it to.