Twisting Ribbons, Untangling Time

Have you ever picked up something and suddenly been transported back in time?

That’s exactly what happened to me this year while I was making bows for my own garland. The moment I touched the ribbon and smelled the fresh greenery; it was like I was back in my parents’ living room during the holidays. I could almost hear the laughter, feel the warmth, and see the glowing Christmas tree in the bay window. For a moment, I wasn’t an adult managing the hustle and bustle of the holidays—I was a teenager again, sitting cross-legged on the floor with my family, feeling the pure love and happiness that filled our home.

Nostalgia has a way of sneaking up on you, doesn’t it? One small thing—a smell, a sound, or the way something feels—can open the door to a flood of memories. I found myself completely immersed in those holiday nights, the ones where the whole family gathered together, not because we had to, but because that’s just what we did.

When your parents own a business, it becomes a family business. My mom and dad owned a floral shoppe and garden center, and the holidays were their busiest season. Among the many holiday preparations for their shoppe there was making bows—big, bright red plastic bows that adorned the wreaths my parents sold so many of during the season. And while it started as a task to keep up with demand, it quickly became a tradition that brought our whole family together.

Our living room was the heart of these memories. It had a gold couch with a damask design that was as beautiful as it was impractical—because no one really wanted to sit on it for long. On either side of the bay window stood two matching upholstered chairs with the same damask pattern, slightly stiff but full of charm. The bay window was my mom’s favorite feature of the house. She loved that bay window, especially during Christmas when the tree stood proudly in the center, perfectly framed for everyone passing by to admire.

On one wall in the living room sat the piano, another of my mom’s treasures. She loved to play, and during the holidays, it became the soundtrack of our family time. As we worked, she’d play Christmas carols, her fingers dancing over the keys, filling the room with warmth and nostalgia. Sometimes we’d sing along—terribly, in some cases—but most of the time, we’d just let the music carry us through whatever holiday task we were tackling.

Making bows was a full family affair. My siblings and I joined my mom and dad, each of us sitting around the living room, twisting bright red plastic ribbon into loops and tying them off until we had the perfect bow. Of course, “perfect” was subjective—my mom’s bows were always the best. She had an eye for symmetry and flair that the rest of us could only aspire to. Once the bows were finished, we’d string them into groups of ten so we could easily count how many we’d made. Our hands would be sticky from the ribbon, our fingers sore from twisting the wire to secure the bows, but we didn’t mind. Watching the piles of bows grow taller and taller was incredibly satisfying, and we’d laugh as we tried to outdo one another in speed or quality. Spoiler alert: none of us ever beat Mom.

What stands out the most was the way my dad would look around the room, his face filled with pride. He’d pause for a moment, taking in the scene—his family all together, working, laughing, and sharing in something special. It wasn’t just about making bows or preparing for the shoppe; it was about the love and connection we shared in those moments. You could see it in his eyes, the pride and joy of knowing that this was his family, and they were his greatest accomplishment.

Even now, as an adult, I can close my eyes and feel like I’m back there. I’m sitting on the floor, my hands sticky from the ribbon, my fingers aching from the wire, my mom’s music playing in the background, my siblings teasing one another, and my dad smiling quietly as he watched us. I can feel the warmth of the room, the glow of the Christmas tree, and the joy of being surrounded by the people I loved most in the world.

That’s the beauty of nostalgia—it has the power to take us back to a time when life felt full and whole. It’s like a little time machine, reminding us of the moments that made us who we are. And as I sit here tying bows for my own garland, I hope my story takes you back, too. Maybe it’s to a childhood holiday in your family’s living room, or maybe it’s another moment in time when everyone you loved was near, and the world felt a little more magical.

Even though my parents were so busy running their shoppe, they never let the busyness of the season overshadow the magic of the holidays at home. Family would gather, gifts were wrapped and tucked under the tree, and my mom would cook a meal that seemed to fill every corner of the house with its delicious aroma. They somehow managed to balance the chaos of the season with creating a home that overflowed with love, laughter, and happiness. We were so lucky as kids to have them, and their example left a lasting mark on me.

The holidays have a way of blending joy with nostalgia, especially as I navigate life without my parents. But these memories remind me that the true magic of the season isn’t in the perfectly wrapped gifts or the sparkling lights—it’s in the messy, beautiful moments spent with the people who make you feel loved.

This Christmas, I’ll think of those nights—of bows, garland, my mom’s music filling the room, my dad’s proud smile, and the incredible love that surrounded us. And I’ll hold onto these memories, as imperfect and wonderful as they are.

Here’s to family time—simple, chaotic, and unforgettable.

❤️ Aimee

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