Home Sweet Home

It was 9:30 this morning when our phones chimed. Our neighbor was wondering if we were up: she was hoping to welcome us home, catch up on the last couple of weeks, and exchange Christmas gifts.

C'mon over! Heidi texted back, and a few minutes later the doorbell rang.

"Merry Christmas!" I greeted her. "And Happy New Year, too!"

"Same to you!" she answered, stepping inside. She paused for a moment, and I could tell she was taking in the lights on the tree, the smell of fresh coffee, the logs crackling in the fireplace, the Vince Guaraldi on the record player.

"Well! Isn't this cozy!" she smiled as she sat in the rocking chair.

I had to agree.

The Great White Way

We thought we had dodged the snow when we left Buffalo around noon in overcast skies. Sure, there were some lake effect showers predicted for the South Towns, but we were driving south and then away from the lake as we went.

Well.

Not so much.

Bursts of snow punctuated most of our trip, and we were not clear of the storm until we hit Maryland. Even then, picking up our hometown radio station, we heard that some squalls might be dusting the ground sometime this evening.

I'm not complaining, though. The snowflakes whirling into our windshield and blanketing the fields, filling the woods tree by frosted tree, and coating the mountains were breathtaking, and the roads were cold but not slippery. Our car was warm and the company was excellent. We may have lost half an hour or so in travel time, but I kind of think it was worth it.

Quip of the Trip

Heidi was excited to wear her fabulous new over-the-knee boots on the plane today, and truth be told, they do make a fashion statement. In fact she received several comments on them.

When we got TSA precheck on our boarding passes, she was even more pleased not to have to take them off for security. The two of us merrily plopped our bags and coats on the conveyor and joined the queue for the scanner. Red lights and beeping erupted as Heidi stepped through the high-tech gate, and an agent raised a hand to halt her.

"I'm sorry," the officer told Heidi, "but your boots are alarming!"

Ideal Conditions

The family was taking a Christmas vacation walk to a nearby market yesterday when I found myself in step with 11-year-old Richard. He is just about the same age as many of my students, and without thinking I posed a question to initiate conversation. A warm December breeze swept over the skyline of Atlanta to our right. His parents had moved here when he was two, and I knew he considered this town his home.

"So where do you think you might live when you grow up?" I asked him. 

He shrugged.

"Here? New York?" I named the town where he was born. "Washington where we and Nanny live? California? Arizona? Minnesota?"

"Maybe here," he answered, "or Bermuda." 

I knew he had been there on a vacation a few years back and loved it.

"Some place warm, but not too hot," he continued.

"What about snow?" I asked.

"I like it," he agreed. 

I considered the parameters. "Maybe you would like living in Colorado," I suggested. " They have a little bit of everything that you want-- warm in the summer, snow in the mountains."

He nodded, and then his eyes lit up.  "Yeah! Maybe I'll find a little hole in the mountains and dig it out! Then I'll cut some trees for hardwood floors and build a fireplace. I think I'll live in a cave in the woods!"

I smiled and nodded and listened the rest of the way as he elaborated with evermore enthusiasm and detail on the concept of his cozy little cavern.

Even after 23 (and a half!) years of teaching sixth grade, I will never tire of that whimsical mashup of faith, fiction, and fact that most of us bring to the threshold of eleven and the rest of our lives. How revitalizing it is to spend time with people who believe that anything really is possible.

Holiday Hijinks

We crammed a single round of one last game in this morning before the first of our Christmas company went their separate way. Based on the phenomena of "Spoonerisms" Splickety Lit requires competitors to not only answer questions but also transpose the initial consonants in every response. So, for example, the author of Ate Grexpaectations would be none other than Darls Chickens.

In keeping with the spirit of the rules, the game pieces are tiny wooden pame geeses, and the player who goes first is determined by whose name makes the funniest spoonerism. In our group that was unquestionably Shictor, but only because Bichard wasn't playing.

Too soon, though, the fun was cut short, because Fepardson Shamily had to rit the hoad.

If the Fates Allow

It was already 5:20 this evening when the frozen beef bones clattered onto the sheet pan. A little oil, some salt and pepper and a few carrots later they were in the rapidly heating oven to brown for stock which was destined to be gravy for our Christmas feast. Across the kitchen asparagus snapped, arugula tossed into a bowl and the rib roast seasoned so that we might eat sometime before midnight.

A few hours later Christmas crackers were snapping as dinner was served and although it might have been a tad late, none of the crowned diners seemed to mind a bit.

Everlasting Light

It was dark when the alarm went off this morning, dark when we wheeled our suitcases down the driveway to the waiting cab, dark when the airport doors whooshed open in a rush of warm air, dark when we took our seats on the plane, and dark as rocketed down the runway and into the dark sky.

There was a confusing moment of light as the plane punched up and through the low cloud layer, its powerful beams illuminating the mist around us, but it was so dark when at last we flew out and above them into the moonless sky. In deference to the early hour, the cabin lights stayed off, and the flight attendants wielded their heavy cart expertly through the gloom, offering beverage service in hushed tones to their sleepy and slumbering passengers.

As the silent stars slid by I dropped into a dreamless sleep, and when I woke a little later, the sun rising off our starboard side cast halos of bright orange like portholes of light along the bulkhead of the plane.

Christmas day had dawned.