With the snowiest Christmas in memory came many happy things, very few of which I feel like I captured on film in their full beauty —
:: slipping, sliding and sledding outside with the children
:: curling up inside by a roaring fire
:: walking among the snow-frosted trees
:: feeling inside myself that sweet, quiet stillness of a snowy day
My favorite holiday moment so far was riding home in the car from Grandma’s house, with one girl awake and one asleep in the backseat. “Mommy,” said the wakeful one, “could you tell me one of your made-up stories that we love so much?” Who could resist?
So I fashioned a Christmas story, using the events of our own day, but setting it a hundred years ago. Instead of a car, our heroines go to their grandparents house by streetcar, train and horse-drawn carriage. They make their presents by hand. Grandpa has to tend to the animals. We need to start a fire with wood to make the dinner. The little cousins all sleep in the same bed and wake up on Christmas to find oranges and nuts and candy canes in their stockings.
C. listened but also jumped in–“No, no, no, Mommy! We went with Grandpa in the carriage to pick up the cousins at the station. No, the blanket was red, with stripes.” So much did it seem like we were discussing something that had actually happened that Daddy, who hadn’t been following our conversation, said, “When did that happen?”
It was truly magical, this little moment of in-the-car storytelling. I’m sure I’ll be asked to tell that story again next year, and we’ll add some new details to the magic.
Happy Christmas! Happy Holidays!