I let myself come out of my dream world easily. It took only milliseconds to realize that wool socks would never be needed on the beach and that the sun wouldn't really be able to reach any of my skin since I was bundled against the cold that crept into the house. Normally I would try to hold onto the memory as long as possible, reliving my adventures, but not tonight. I let my feet touch back down and I reentered the conversation being held in our kitchen about the new Rogers' tradition. It is Christmas Eve and despite my desires to fly and run, I know where I need to be tonight. Right here in the kitchen that has been a work in progress for over six months, tucked away from the blizzard with two quote-crazy brothers, my parents and a dog ready to give beijinhos at a moments notice.
So I tipped my sangria filled glass and let the memories of Portugal slip away as fast as they rode in, because I was busy making new memories. Memories that might just be brought back to mind next Christmas when we recreate the new Rogers' tradition, or the next time I hear winds from a blizzard, or the next time I hear my family laugh together