The Christmas Season is in full tilt complete with snow on the ground. The showerhead that my husband installed, an annoyance at first, has grown on me. I stand under the misty spray, grateful for the heat and the luxury of a shower. Some people would die for a hot shower. I think of my brother who once lived in Nepal as a Peace Corps volunteer. I remember that he took a couple trips to Thailand where he stayed in a luxurious hotel and relished in a hot shower, soft warm bed and movie theaters where each ticket came with slippers and blankets and the seats reclined. His stay in a third world country affected us all. The simple things that I once took for granted, and sometimes still do, are now seen as luxuries. As I emerge from the bathroom, I see the lights of the Christmas tree illuminating all the gifts that surround it, and realize how blessed we truly are. But each gift only represents one thing to me. The family that I love will be coming home. My arms long to take them in, wrap them up and hold them. Everyone has grown up. They have lives of their own. But on this day, once a year, we go back in time. Back to when they were my little children rising on Christmas morning with wide-eyed wonder filling me with that feeling of unconditional love and the magic that children carry in their hearts.