Dreams of a White Christmas

So.

The Grinch got with the program and rallied, more or less.

She did those things that were joyful. She let go of a lot that was not. She floated through some Stuff.

She ended up doing three (four, if you count the baby one) trees.

She cooked a little. Wrapped a lot.

But only dragged out (drug out?) half the stuff.

It all turned out in the end, as it usually does.

Okay. Enough of the third person.

If you’re normal, you should be a little tired today. If you’re like me, you’re exhausted.

So I did what I do after every major holiday or coast change:

Stayed in bed for a good portion of the day.

Absolutely delightful.

The wrap is still on the family room floor. The kitchen will be a 3-day clean-up.

So what?

I don’t have a problem with it. I’m just darn glad that Santa showed up and sanity showed up… for the most part.

And there really, really was lots of joy sprinkled in, as cliché as it sounds.

Really.

Though bittersweet.

It was joyful for me to watch my grandson experience snow for the first time. He was kind of like Bambi.

But it was heartbreaking for me to see how devastated his mother was that she couldn’t play in it with him.

The ill-concealed tears.

I was stealing my precious first baby’s candy again.

That…

stinks.

Actually, there are no words. The only ones I can think of are not nice.

There are some things that are just unspeakably bad.

But there were also some extraordinary, unexpected blessings.

I am reflecting on them from my perch in our embarrassingly squeaky, very, very old bed. (Circa 1780’s. Virginia Tobacco Leaf design. Husband hates it.)

I got a text from one of my best friends while ensconced there early this morning:

She wrote:

“What a wonderful gift from above… a white Christmas… my all-time favorite childhood wish!”

Every Southern child’s secret wish.*  (But something Santa never could seem to deliver.)

*I don’t know why. I only know that it was something fervently prayed for over the years, with no realistic chance of fulfillment.

It just doesn’t snow very much in the South.

It is something that is greatly idealized here. We all want a Dickens’ Christmas, don’t we? Where everything turns out all right in the end? Where Man’s Better Nature rises to the surface, and there is finally Peace on Earth, Good Will Towards Man? (Spiked) punch and a yule log? Perhaps even a jig or two.

It always snows in a Dickens’ Christmas.

Never in a Georgia one.

At least not in the past 118 years.

But it did last night.

It was magical.

I don’t care how hardened and callous you are.

It was gorgeous. Inexplicable. Unexpected.

(The Weather Man has NEVER been right about this before now. So many broken promises.)

Holy.

They were some truly holy moments.

When All was Still.

And all was quiet.

Quiet.

And there were no words.

***************

While I was lying around in bed today, I did a nerdy family holiday slide show.

If you are bored... and kind... feel free to watch.



(p.s. Any 'artistic' photos might have been taken by my son-in-law Jay. :))