The universe of these two is restricted to the house in which they live with other somewhat abstract relatives, walks in the nearby woods, and occasional visits to local shops. They, however, regard their simple life as equal to the most pleasant one that may be had in the world outside.

Truman Capote’s childhood memory of his adored cousin, the “sixty-something” yet childlike best friend of his youth, is brimming with richly evoked country seasonal preparations to immerse you in the holiday spirit. The book ends on Christmas day when the friends exchange gifts, though Capote includes asides that hint at sad and somber events in the future. Indeed, nothing can last forever, even the joy of Christmas. I absolutely loved this book, though the ending left me in tears.

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I have walked the streets of Monroeville, Alabama, many times. There is little sign of Truman Capote or Nelle Harper Lee in that town, other than the old Courthouse, now a museum. Truman Capote's childhood summer and Christmas home is a vacant lot. Ms. Lee's home, if my geography is right, is occupied by something akin to a Dairy Queen, though some owner long past decided the name recognition was not worth the franchise price to have it. I first read Truman Capote's A Christmas Memory when I was 13 years old. I fell love with this story instantly, & still love it to this day. I believed then, as I believe now, that A Christmas Memory is one of the greatest short stories ever written. The Christmas dinner described above was the last my wife and I shared with my Mother. We were fortunate to have her with us through Thanksgiving and Christmas. Our homes were two doors apart. My wife and I moved into her home to be her caregivers. Mother died February 1, 2012. I am fortunate to have a number of books given to me by her through the years. I am mindful of the poet W.S. Merwin who told us, “What you remember saves you.” Yes, it does. Truman Capote was an American writer whose non-fiction, stories, novels and plays are recognised literary classics, including the novella Breakfast at Tiffany's (1958) and In Cold Blood (1965), which he labeled a "non-fiction novel." At least 20 films and TV dramas have been produced from Capote novels, stories and screenplays.

Every year one of my friends on social media will write a review for this story, reminding me, once again, that I STILL haven't read it. By the time I make it to the library, the hold time for this popular classic goes well beyond the Christmas holidays- so I put it off for another year. Oh my,” she [Buddy’s friend] exclaims, her breath smoking the windowpane, “it’s fruitcake weather!” In all our lives we have memories both bitter and sweet. Nobody said it better than Robert Frost. "In three words I can sum up everything I’ve learned about life: it goes on."The Thanksgiving Visitor and A Christmas Memory have both been carried to Wilmington. Holiday dinners there are not small affairs. Friends and neighbors fill the house. Extra tables and chairs are brought in. Each couple, group, single, brings a dish. This was Truman Capote’s childhood memory, and it is so beautifully written, and one of the best Christmas stories ever. Miss Sook was rather eccentric, like the woman in the book “Housekeeping” by Marilynne Robinson who took care of children. I love eccentric people like this, and I wish that I had them in my life when I was a child. I remember so little of my Christmases, and like Truman Capote I was given mostly clothes. Things. Toys, books, friends, parents, lovers, spouses, children. What would we do without the gift of memory? How would we survive? Without it, we would be nothing but empty shells mindlessly living in the moment.

Today my mother's kitchen will be redolent with the aromas of Roast Turkey, buttermilk pie, sweet potato souffle and sweet bourbon corn pudding. The cornbread dressing will be steaming and the giblet gravy will be hot and succulent. I will share the table today with my wife and mother. I will be thankful for home and family and the memory of those I love who will not be sharing our table today, whether separated by simple miles or death itself. I will raise a toast to each of those dear to me and I will feel their presence around the table because of two little books given to me one Christmas morning more than thirty years ago. This sense of the frailty of life and transience of the moments of happiness makes the whole story special. Capote, in his adult life, may have allowed himself a certain idealization of his childhood years. But this does not take away anything from the beauty of this single Christmas memory. The text is lyrical without sliding into mushiness. This sums up their relationship best. I liked how the narrator constantly called the lady “my friend.” The narrator's pride in their friendship can be felt in how he constantly calls the lady “my friend.” She is the only person who understands Buddy. I've watched the television special - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oQGEU... - countless times now, so it was impossible to read this without hearing Capote's voice. This short vignette tells of the last Christmas Capote spent with his friend, a distant, decades older cousin.How could anyone read this without a sense of nostalgia? Even if you never lived in a place with a fireplace or a wood stove or made any kind of holiday food, you can imagine what it must have been like for little Truman Capote, for this is his Christmas and his elderly relative who is making her annual fruitcakes. This year these little books grow even more special to me as I read the comments of "The Trail" members while they experience Capote's stories. One mother is reading "The Thanksgiving Visitor" to her ten year old daughter. She's a smart child. She likes Buddy's friend and says the narrator is good. Now there's another child who will have some special memories of her own. Whether you celebrate Christmas, Kwanzaa, Hanukkah, or nothing at all, I wish each of you the best of memories for the coming day. What a delight for anyone who loves seeing small children and old people do what they do best – love each other and be kind to the world. This is what simple people understand that the rich often do not: appreciation for the uniqueness of what we have.