Of my fifty Christmases so far, not many of them have been white. Oh sure, the numbers have gone up since I've been celebrating the season in Buffalo, but even that doesn't make snow a sure thing. In fact, my most recent white Christmas was in Atlanta. A couple of years ago we were all there for that once in a hundred year event. Of course, Heidi and I almost didn't make it, but when we did it was merry indeed. The next day I even went out to play in the snow in my pajamas with Richard and Annabelle.
This year is looking pretty good, too, if tonight's weather is any indication. We've been driving through exquisite squalls of swirling fat flakes for the last three hours. It slows us down, but the temperature has cooperated by holding above thirty-two so the roads are merely wet, and the Christmas lights look especially beautiful in the storm.
O, we'll get there, and when we do there will be hugs and Friday fish fry, but until then the journey is just fine.
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