Growing up, when my family decorated for the holidays, we put up and adorned the tree, hung stockings, and set-up the train-board. Pretty typical Americana action going on in our house. We also, however, placed a large basket full of Christmas books next to the tree. The basket was large and wicker, usually lined with red napkins, and stuffed with books of all shapes and sizes.
As a kid, this was a magical collection that only appeared once a year. The basket was full of board books and golden books with a couple of Christmas novels thrown in for good measure. I remember rifiling through the treasures and re-reading my childhood favorites every year. It didn't matter if I had the stories and the illustrations memorized, I still read the books each year.
At the end of the Christmas season, this collection disappeared to the North Pole (or the attic) where it waited until the following December.
The basket of books was the Christmas gift that kept on putting a smile on my face, year after year.