Amy Masaschi, Executive Assistant
My parents grew up in West Texas. Lubbock to be exact. If you’ve ever traveled west of the Caprock on 1-20 then you know how brown, flat and utterly desolate the plains are. But what the area lacks in topography, it more than makes up for in memories.
Despite weeping and gnashing of teeth from us kids, every other December we flew out to where the prairie dogs roam and the tumbleweeds blow. From Christmas Eve services at my grandmother’s church (an unusual European-style gothic cathedral) and dinners at Furr’s Cafeteria to browsing the aisles at Hasting’s music store, we city slickers made the most of a sleepy town. My brother and I dreaded it every time.
Yet, I look back fondly now on the unique experiences with my extended family. Today, my family all reside in Atlanta, and although it’s an equally special time of making new Yuletide memories, I wish my kids could experience the blessings of a slow(er) West Texas Christmas.
Especially the tumbleweed.
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