When I guess of Christmas, I guess about when I was a kid. I remember sitting in the residing room with the lights on the tree. The aroma of cinnamon rolls would be in the air. Mom would have bowls of fruit and our number one nuts and candy sitting on the counter. The camera would be flashing to make memories of our opening the gifts. Dad would sneak away so he could put coal in the heating system, so the house would be nice and sizzling as the people I was with and I sat on the floor in our new pajamas. There were more than five kids and mom and dad, and I don’t ever remember an fight, or someone complaining if somebody seem to have got more. Santa was something that the people I was with and I chose to go to the corner beatbox shop to follow on the shop owner’s newest beatbox. When the replaces came through that Santa was in the US, the people I was with and I would run back house so the people I was with and I could go to bed. The people I was with and I consistently aroma of the wood fire he had in his fireplace. Mom would make us take a shower and the people I was with and I chose to go to bed. After supper, the people I was with and I would walk to our Grandma’s. She consistently had a fire in the sizzling day stove and you could aroma the heat. Grandma made the best mince meat pies and she would have a fresh pie sitting on the table, waiting for us to eat. Christmas was straight-forward back then. I have so many fond memories and I consistently equate the pleasure the people I was with and I felt with the warmth of the heating that was in the house. It may be a bit unusual to some, however it was the fireplace, the wood or coal stove, and the aroma of baking that is the ghost of Christmas past for me.