It is December. I’m playing my favorite songs and hoping to hear the Messiah once again.
A year ago found Scott and I trudging through fresh snow out on the mountains, looking for a little tree. Our first little tree to bring home and decorate and make pretty in our funny little green home.
I felt so guilty cutting it down- such a little, beautiful tree. But there were so many others around it that it may never have lived to be big and still beautiful, and hanging little lights and wooden ornaments of the nativity, given from a far away friend, and ribbons and tiny little snowflakes made it look festive indeed.
Little did we know that our first Christmas there would be our last, and now I look back and wonder, will my Christmases be white in this corner of the world?
I’m not counting on it. Not with it being warm enough for a t-shirt and sandals on Thanksgiving day, and not with the little creek that was created recently behind our house still unfrozen as can be.
The fact is, half of me is unconvinced that I will even miss the snow. And truthfully, I probably won’t miss it so very much.
Yet, with nearly all my memories wrapped up in those white Christmases of my past, it is hard to imagine Christmas with out snow, and secretly, I’m still dreaming of a white Christmas. Not just like the ones I use to know, for help us if these poor southern born and raised folks had to figure out how to drive in that much snow overnight, but I’d be content with just a little bit of snow. Enough to make my world white for a week or maybe two.
Enough to make my little Christmas dream come true.
And while I’m waiting for that snow, counting the days until company arrives (My parents and maybe just maybe Mr & Mrs Arcfide!) and writing my christmas cards and watching the mailbox for the second (the first one just arrived from a beautiful new Mrs D, and made my whole weekend) card of the season, I’m counting joys, and randomly pondering whether or not I should move or unpack these Christmas boxes now or later…when we get that Christmas Snow.
Of course, in my heart, I know, too that seasons change and White Christmases don’t need snow to still be the kind of white I always knew. And I’m glad for that. But, white in spirit or white in reality, I think I’ll keep dreaming of White Christmases and of my biggest wish come true: spending these days once again with the man I love.