Christmas at Grandma's By Carrie Lehn Reproduced here by permission of the author. In December of 2002, Carrie won a story writing contest with this entry, beating out over 650 other grade 7 and 8 students. Her reading of it was broadcast by CBC Radio in the Windsor-London corridor. How much is fact, and how much is fiction? You decide ! It’s Christmas. My Grandma’s house sits hidden behind two fir trees nestled in between the blankets of snow. It is filled to its maximum capacity with cousins, aunts and uncles. Sometimes I’m fearful that if uncle Arnie gives one more bellow, the seams of Grandma’s house will surely split. Everywhere people are smiling, laughing, chatting and playing wild games of crokinole. Occasionally a crokinole piece will take flight twirling out of control like a saucer. Every bed and couch has been claimed by an aunt or uncle and the floor is covered in grandchildren’s sleeping bags. A Christmas tree stands awkwardly by the fireplace. It’s missing some branches, but we hide it as best we can by putting it against the wall. The tree isn’t fancy or covered in designer ornaments, definitely not something form Hollywood or Martha Stewart. The tree displays its decorations and old coloured lights bravely. The gifts beneath aren’t elegantly wrapped or extravagant; one is in a birthday bag and another in last week’s comic’s page. You can hear Grandpa chopping wood outside with his rusty but trusty old axe. In his old plaid coat with strings loose from years of labouring, Grandpa cuts like a pro with the swing of a lumber jack. Grandma is always in the kitchen making her mouth watering fudge, so creamy and flawless. It’s better than the best fudge you could buy. Before bed I reassure my cousins that Santa won’t trip over us, Rudolph won’t fall off the icy roof, and I’m sure Santa won’t be offended that our fireplace is still on. I snuggle into my patchwork sleeping bag while the flames prance about. I don’t care that I’m sleeping on the floor or that our Christmas tree really isn’t straight because this is the way I see a perfect Christmas a Christmas where nothing is perfect but Grandma’s fudge.