Christmas By The River: A Nostalgic Sleepy Escape

Find a soothing sanctuary with "Christmas by the River," a cozy bedtime story that draws on a sense of holiday cheer and community. Join me, Michelle, on a charming, guided journey through her historic hometown's holiday festival, filled with warm memories, hot cocoa, and the melodious sound of carols.

As the evening concludes, find refuge by a crackling fire where the deep, restorative silence of a sleepy village will guide you to rest. It's time to dream away.

Transcript

Settle in for a cozy sleep story for grown-ups,

Where small-town charm weaves a dreamy,

Wintry tapestry.

Tonight we escape to a tranquil riverside community to savor simple holiday pleasures at an annual Christmas festival.

Let the gentle songs of the season and the enduring spirit of hope bring you a sense of deep peace.

It's time to dream away.

Welcome to Michelle's Sanctuary.

I'm Michelle,

Your sleepy guide for tonight's Christmas adventure.

I hope my voice greets you like that of a dear,

Long-time friend.

One who reminds you of the prevalent beauty in this world,

Waiting to be found and explored.

Congratulate yourself for making it through another day.

As you find a soft landing on this delicate bridge between wakefulness and sleep,

We will set the tone for dreaming.

Tonight's mental holiday is yours to craft.

Feel free to change any detail you desire,

And drift to sleep whenever rest becomes irresistible.

You are listening to Christmas by the River,

A story inspired by a recent nostalgic trip to my hometown for its annual gathering.

As a child,

I was enamored by the magic of small-town life.

My grandparents helped raise me,

And I spent countless afternoons down by the river.

At night,

I'd visit my grandfather at his humble oil-scented garage,

A social meeting spot where he and friends would tinker with cars.

I'd play in the puddles captivated by the mesmerizing iridescence of oil droplets,

And feed the half-dozen roaming stray cats,

Especially a fat orange one we appropriately named Morris.

I remember his old friend,

Who would clasp my hand and lead me across the street to the pub.

We'd saunter past the popular pool table to select a teal bag of Wise Potato Chips.

In the summer,

My grandmother would watch,

As I jumped off the boat dock to swim in a river that I truly had no business swimming in.

She remembered a different time,

When the town was a fabulous destination with a popular beach.

She'd tell stories from long ago of the old opera house,

A vacant shell then and now,

But once an elegant attraction of the Gilded Age.

The gritty,

Blue-collar experience of my childhood has transformed yet again.

The riverfront has been beautifully revitalized,

Yet the essential,

Peaceful charm remains.

It is that enduring spirit of resilience that sets the perfect stage for a Christmas affair.

Journey inward as you settle into the sanctuary of your mind,

And we take a few minutes for relaxation and slowing down.

Invite a long-overdue ease,

Allowing your breath to become the magic that carries you to a picturesque village.

Tucked in,

Safe,

Feeling warm and supported,

Sense the air change around you with the frostiness of winter.

As you let out a sigh,

Envision your breath condensing and relieving you of any remnants of today and concerns for tomorrow.

Draw in the pure,

Cold air with an intention to be fully aware of all the sensations that come to life with your creative mind.

Let out another easy,

Audible sigh,

And find more relief than you may have considered possible.

As you inhale,

The aromatic notes of the holiday season arrive,

Perfuming your space with a hint of hot spiced cider and the sweet scent of balsam fir boughs.

You can even yawn at the top of your breath if that feels nice.

Then let out an easy,

Audible sigh,

Feeling the ease of releasing today's thoughts as you become lighter and more open to sleepy adventures.

5.

Tune into the graceful,

Rhythmic clapping of the river against the rocky riverfront shore.

Now aglow with holiday lights,

The sound inspires a sense of fluidity and ease.

4.

A heartwarming sense of absolute safety and belonging guides you as you are welcomed into the nostalgic quiet of the revitalized riverfront gazebo.

A holiday tree stands proudly with colorful,

Glittering lights that bring hopeful warmth on the darkest winter night.

3.

Cascading streams of gentle,

Inward warmth flow through you,

Spreading like the protective,

Serene glow radiating from a vintage streetlamp reflecting on the old brick facade,

Carrying with it the kindness of an era gone by.

2.

Stillness settles in every part of you,

Tracing down your spine,

Across the front of your body,

Down your arms and legs,

Leaving a blissful warmth in your hands and feet.

1.

Feel the joy of reaching this chosen haven,

Where life slows down and the world exists to support a night of ease,

Grace,

And contentment.

Your breathing relaxes into the most effortless,

Natural tempo,

As our journey to the cozy,

Small-town riverside charm begins.

2.

Winter arrived early,

Coating the oft-pronounced village of Cooksackie with inches of snow that remain as you make your way to the annual Christmas by the river.

With bare trees,

The view of the Hudson becomes clear as you descend the steep slope of Mansion Street and make your way to the heart of the village.

Every business and dwelling offers its space as the festival unfolds,

With 19th-century brick storefronts and the ivory Neo-Roman pillars of the public library.

3.

Cars line the streets,

Finding spots along snowbanks,

As the population swells for the celebration of the season.

Yet even with a surge of new foot traffic,

There's an openness to the gathering,

A lovely amount of space to roam and explore.

You wear many layers,

A new scarf and a comfy parka that keeps you toasty as you explore.

White gold sunlight pours onto the once icy sidewalks,

Melting them into small puddles that reflect the light with a sparkling brilliance.

The air feels unexpectedly warm,

A rare gift as the local forecast calls for winter winds and single digits as the night wanes on.

Historic homes with wraparound porches draped in evergreen boughs and holiday lights offer river views.

These spaces offer decades of comfort from rocking chairs and porch swings.

Reed Street is blocked off with festive white tents overflowing with vendors who sell their handmade crafts and holiday trinkets.

The smell of rich hot chocolate wafts from a local shop,

Joining the sweet hint of hay bales where young goats frolic and bleat from the festival's petting zoo.

A young boy runs past you with a newly purchased knitted hat,

With pom-poms that dangle from yarn strings,

And take flight as he races with his mom to be the last to board the hayride.

Reed Street has the feel of a movie set,

So picturesque and nostalgic,

It's hard to imagine that this is a real place,

A true home for many.

A stand at its end,

Taking in the quiet charm.

When I was a child,

My grandmother lived just up the hill and would bring me to the library,

Encouraging my love of books.

On weekends,

We'd find ourselves around the corner at the Red Firehouse for pancake breakfasts,

And annually we'd go to the best Halloween party in town there.

Many things have changed,

Many remain the same,

But the stirring of nostalgia is easy to encounter when you know a town for a long time.

The same is true for human relationships,

And as your exploration begins,

You get a sense of what once was,

With elders selling raffle tickets to help sponsor another year of Christmas by the river,

Giving out three bags of popcorn,

Along with sharp-witted quips and descriptive tales of the town from long ago.

You step within the local floral shop,

Where a gingerbread contest is underway.

The smell of ginger and baking spice fills the air,

As a little girl comes to terms with a sad realization that gingerbread houses aren't meant for eating.

Back outside,

The petting zoo draws your attention,

As a Sinatra holiday tune plays from the DJ across the way.

Small fluffy white bunnies are offered to pet and hold,

And quite a few young tykes make amendments to their Christmas lists,

Yearning to take one of these bunnies home.

Once more,

I recall my own grandmother,

Who surprised my parents one year,

Bringing me home from the Altamont Fair with a bunny of my own.

With a mischievous wink,

She dropped me off at my home,

Taking off long before my father could respond to my new furry gift.

But at the petting zoo,

You take a turn yourself,

Running your fingers through the bunny's plush white fur,

Surprised how it feels more velvety soft than you could have imagined.

Goats bleat in a pen,

Putting on a show,

And the invitation to engage with them gives a sense of the agrarian lifestyles that expand beyond the village.

My own young chihuahua couldn't help but sniff at the bunnies,

Trying to lick their small noses,

While the goats certainly scared him off,

As they were so unfamiliar to a city chihuahua.

You continue on,

Walking through the ivory tents,

Where triangular glass enclosures in the middle contain flickering flames that keep the space warm.

Handcrafted jewelry and hand-knitted mittens may be found alongside specialty candles and jams,

All made by hand with care.

A pickle stand sells crocheted emotional support stuffed pickles.

A young retriever puppy,

In a fuzzy scarlet and green sweater,

Tries to say hello to everyone as they pass,

Clumsily flipping over onto his back as he implores strangers to give him a belly rub.

It creates quite a traffic jam,

But vendors and revelers alike can't help but laugh as the pup's new owner struggles to bring him back to his feet.

Eventually,

In silent resignation,

The woman picks up the puppy,

Who takes a big yawn and then rests his chin on her shoulder.

You meander back outside,

Drawn into the National Bank,

To take in some live Christmas tunes.

As people take a moment to warm up inside,

A hint of cinnamon and balsam fir lingers in the air,

Marrying the scent of old,

Polished wood.

A zesty rendition of Have a Holly Jolly Christmas plays,

And a few toddlers and seniors balancing on canes move along in sync to the bouncy rhythm.

With more to explore,

You step back outside and meander into another shop,

Where a casserole competition is giving way.

It smells like Thanksgiving,

And you watch as a few older men in flannel jackets become studious as they try to assess each sample,

Taking their time with each vote.

I can't remember the last time myself that I saw so many casseroles at once,

But I imagine it must have been at some gathering in Cooksackie as a kid,

Where communal potlucks were a common theme in my youth.

I often helped make the desserts,

Surprising all one year by putting Cocoa Puffs cereal into the rich brownies I made with my mom.

Our crunchy brownies stirred quite a bit of curiosity.

The elders in the group tore a big hit with the kids my age.

You continue to the end of Reed Street,

Turning on to South River Street.

To the left is the riverfront park,

Where the white gazebo and a glowing,

Colorful Christmas tree stands.

Steep,

Snow-covered hillsides rise from the riverbanks across the Hudson,

Where historic mansions are perched with a bird's-eye view of the festivities.

Long ago,

Cooksackie,

Like many other nearby riverside towns,

Was a major hub for harvesting ice in the winter months,

Long before refrigerators and electricity.

The town provided this ice to New York City to the south.

And while the river is now thawed,

You can imagine its vitality at the time.

Even after a century and a half has passed,

The resourcefulness of the river is still felt.

Along South River Street,

The world has changed so much since my childhood long ago.

The firehouse I once visited is now privately owned and restored.

The former pub is grander,

Still retaining the historic charm,

But with more modern updates.

My great-grandmother once lived upstairs from the older version of the pub,

In a beautiful apartment where the sun would rise over the Hudson,

Filling the long hallway with sparkling golden light on the chilliest winter days.

You make your way past the former opera house,

Now in a state of reconstruction and renewal,

The brick façade telling stories of long ago.

You follow a family in matching Santa hats,

On the way to the new Wire Center,

In what was once the home of J.

G.

Newbury Ironworks,

And later the State & Wire Cable Company.

It maintains an industrial chic design,

Made extra cozy with holiday lights,

And booths of more handmade gifts.

You enter,

And the warm,

Dry air hugs you in a welcome embrace.

A small booth sells glittering jewelry,

While another sells sweaters in an array of jewel tones and festive hues.

The talented knitter behind it all asked to place a prized hat she made for dogs on my pup,

As she'd been longing to try it on a dog all day.

Unfortunately,

Ike's little chihuahua head was too small,

And the hat fell immediately over his chocolate brown eyes.

But he was a sport about it,

As he had been for much of the day.

You continue through the long haul,

Light pouring through the windows,

Causing the old brick walls to shimmer.

The space is so open,

Yet cozy at the same time.

And you can't imagine wanting to venture out into the cold world anytime soon.

You continue down the hall to Santa's playground,

Where children are busied by messy crafts involving glittery glue at the stocking decorating station,

And red,

Green,

And white icing at the cookie decorating table.

Iron-leaded windows frame the river and untouched glistening white snow banks.

A Christmas tree stands in the corner with sparkling gold lights,

And Santa and Mrs.

Claus are nestled in plush plaid chairs,

Meeting with a line of children and pups that snakes around an antique sleigh on display.

My dad and mom portray Santa and Mrs.

Claus,

And have for the past however many years,

And my nieces are certain to tell anyone in our inner circle that we should know that it's really their grandpa and grandma.

My Chihuahua,

On the other hand,

Can't be quite convinced.

The sun lowers outside,

Early nightfall soon to arrive as the world becomes more gray.

You find yourself at one of the crafting tables,

Decorating a sugar cookie with a steady hand.

But even the steadiest hand may not stop the runny greens and reds from swirling together in what looks like a spin-art creation.

Yet,

It doesn't matter.

You simply enjoy the process,

And the playful fits of giggles from your neighboring cohorts who enjoy the mess as much as the sugar.

And as the event winds down,

Santa and Mrs.

Claus rise,

Symbolizing the end of the festival.

The main room is transformed into an orchestra hall.

Ivory chairs speedily arranged in rows as the town community band settles and plays beloved carols.

The sky darkens outside,

And the warm golden glow of the space feels safe amongst the sturdy brick walls that have endured through time.

Cooksake,

Like so many old villages and towns,

Is symbolic of this renewal.

Like the Hudson River,

Its constant ebb and flow of traditions new and old stir a spirit,

A promise,

Really,

That there is always more to come.

And as a trumpet solo cuts through the quiet crowd,

You feel a rising sense of hope.

A reminder that community is alive and well,

Even in this modern,

Seemingly divided world.

And the healing whispers of the past reverberate through these walls.

As the concert ends,

You rise and follow the crowd as it spills out into the night.

The parking lot is now vacant,

And the streets are now quiet.

A sparkling new hotel stands just across the street from where my great-aunt once lived.

I'd spend hours of my life glancing out at the river,

Sitting on the concrete steps to her home.

I'd aim to remove the vibrant blue and green marbles that had been placed in the concrete before it set.

It was always such a magical place for me to spend the summer.

The smell of the river was the smell of home to me.

And even on this brisk winter night,

Its aroma is there,

Soft but present.

You wander down the now-quiet Reed Street,

As a canopy of gold lights sways with a sharp,

Sudden breeze.

You buy a few provisions from the general store just before it closes.

A light meal to enjoy before the fire at the now-quiet hotel.

How quickly the weather has changed,

Along with the energy,

As the sky has deepened into a shade of purple-black.

A three-quarter moon rises over the still river,

Reflecting perfectly on the ebony water.

The colorful Christmas tree in the park's gazebo has the only other vibrant splash of light in the sleepiness of the village.

Draws out the sleepiness in you.

The puddles have quickly frozen over,

And you carefully watch your step as the wind pushes you toward James Newbury Hotel.

You check in with ease,

Seeing only another couple in the lobby.

You gather your bag and make your way up to the third floor.

The hotel carries on with an industrial-chic design as well.

The fresh,

Sweet smell of evergreen boughs perfumes the elevator banks.

You press the button and wait,

And then ascend.

The elevator doors open to reveal an antique chest and a rotary phone.

Capturing the essence of an era long gone.

Even when phones advanced,

My own grandmother always requested a rotary phone,

And sent us on quite the search to find the perfect one for a Christmas gift one year.

I can still remember the cool brass in my hand as I'd call home,

Occasionally making a mistake and having to start all over again.

But rotary phones and eras long ago could inspire us all to be a little more patient,

Slow,

And steady ourselves.

You walk down the hall and open the door into your spacious suite.

The wallpaper features a great blue heron design,

A majestic local bird.

The moonlight pours through the windows,

And the room is perfectly warm and toasty.

The ceilings are high,

The king-sized bed is plush and inviting,

And black and white framed photos on the wall tell a story of a Kusaki that once was.

You place down your belongings and hang up your coat to return to the festive lobby and enjoy your light meal.

Downstairs,

Holiday music plays softly and the Christmas tree gleams.

The hotel is quiet,

Offering a sense of being home and in solitude as the wind howls off the river.

You settle by the fire,

Peering out over the sleepy village decorated in holiday light.

The festivities but a distant memory.

And for a moment,

You imagine what it would have been like so long ago.

Grateful for the comfortable,

Modern and cozy amenities on this winter night.

You slowly enjoy your meal,

And your eyes get sleepy as you watch the dancing flames and the most joyful,

Beautiful memories of the day come to mind.

Tiredness arrives with a pleasant heaviness as you gently pry yourself out of the plush cushions of the armchair and slowly make your way through the quiet lobby.

The space will be bustling once more,

But this quiet Sunday night is a beautiful contrast to the day's adventures.

You feel like you have it all to yourself for the keeping.

You make your way back to your room.

The halls are silent,

Yet glow warm,

And you prepare to settle for the night.

A long,

Luxurious,

Steamy shower.

Fresh,

Warm pajamas.

And the perfectly plush hotel bed will serve you with comfort as your sleepiness takes over.

You settle into the bed,

Your head sinking into a mountain of plush pillows.

Visions of Christmas by the river alive in your mind,

Conjuring hope and a deep sense of connection sure to inspire you as the tender,

Dreamy waves of sleep tug at your core and you give in to their soft promises.

Finding stillness.

Finding peace.

Finding hope.

Finding peace.

Reviews

I loved this, especially hearing about the wonderful memories of your grandparents. 💙💙

What a wonderful story. Most of my growing up years were spent with my grandparents & great grandparents, & this brought back memories of Christmas holidays with them. Thank you, Michelle, for sharing your hometown and memories.

Thank you kindly Michelle for sharing your memories of you & your grandparents in a small town. It is all the little things in life that make the biggest and longest lasting impressions on us! I pray our time with our granddaughters does the same! 🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🤗🤗🤗🤗🤗

Very nostalgic indeed, with wonderful glimpses into your childhood life…Merry Chistmas, Michelle 🌟🌲🌟🎄🌟🌲🌟

This is a wonderful story and reminded me of my own grandfather. Such great memories. Put me right to sleep. Thank you 💜