Craftours Lifestyles Magazine December 2018 | Page 13

so the logs would “burn.”
Satisfied at last, I settled to the floor
in my favorite nook across from the
fireplace – directly in front of the furnace
vent. I knew the warm air blew from the
basement, but in my mind, the heat
spread from the cardboard logs to ignite
my imagination. It was there
that I spun my boyish dreams
and lived my foolish fantasies.
The years drifted on, and so
did I.
When all of us kids were
grown and on our own, our
parents hit the jackpot. I
mean really hit the jackpot. In
a big way. They won over two
million dollars in the Illinois
State Lottery!
fireplace.
As instant millionaires, the
first thing they did was look
for a new place to live. My
father insisted on only two
musts: an attached garage
and . . . a working fireplace.
My mom wanted more
space. And they found it: a
beautiful two-story house
with four bedrooms, a
spacious kitchen, a dining
area, a two-car garage, a
roomy basement – and a
living room with a working
enveloped dozens of presents under a
beautifully lit tree. From top to bottom,
the place murmured, “New, Gorgeous,
Tasteful.” It certainly wasn’t the home as
I remembered it.
Near the stairwell, I glanced up . . . and
did a double take. Perched at the top,
like a forgotten old friend I might bump
into on the corner, stood the raggedy
cardboard fireplace. With a smile as wide
as Mom’s rolling pin, I climbed the stairs
and sank to the top step as a wave of
boyhood memories washed over me.
Before long, Mom found me upstairs
and stood silently at my side. I looked up,
waiting for her eyes to meet mine.
“You kept it, this old fireplace in your
new home. Why?”
After a long moment, she placed her
hand on my shoulder and bent toward
me. “Because I don’t ever want any of us
to forget the simple joys of Christmas,”
she whispered.
And I nodded in understanding, pleased
that I could still feel the warmth radiating
from the old, cardboard fireplace.
In December after their move, we all
came home for our first holiday together
in years. While everyone lazed and
chatted by the fireside on Christmas
Eve, I rose to my feet to stroll through the
house on a private tour.
Mom had decorated with recently
purchased crystal ornaments and a
hand-carved Santa from Germany.
Embroidered holiday doilies graced new
end tables, and expensive wrapping paper
This Story is taken from “Chicken Soup
for the Soul - Christmas Virtues.”