I have a photo of my young parents and me in two feet of snow beside a snowman. It was Christmas, and our world was blanketed with a serene stillness as I watched my parents toss snowballs and scoop snow into a bowl to make my first snow ice cream. Afterward, each year, in childlike wonder, I looked for snow at Christmas time.
In winter, our small house was heated by a coal stove and when the windows frosted over, my younger sister and I would write our initials on the panes and peer out to watch for snowflakes.
Or we’d lie in the living room floor under our aluminum Christmas tree and watch the revolving light turn its branches red, green and gold. One year daddy saw a huge roll of wrapping paper fall off a truck. He retrieved it and for years all our presents were encased in it.
We had a Christmas program at our small church, complete with carols, a tree and Santa doling out gifts. He would call the children by name and we would each receive a gift that our parents had slipped in, and ours was always a box of chocolate covered cherries.
Afterward, when we stepped into the crisp night air’ we scanned the skies, looking for snow clouds.
With Christmas only a day away, soon our family will gather to open gifts, read the Nativity story, eat tons of food and play games.
The weatherman says it will be clear and cold, with not even a hint of snow.
But hopefully, a huge orb of a moon will hang over our slough on the lake, bathing the water and our point with a layer of silver.
Already, with bare trees silhouetted against a dark sky and pine trees dressed out in black lace, a feeling of enchantment has invaded my world.
For once again, I am amazed at the peace and wonder of Christmas.