Straight from the Heart
Snowy Holiday Memories
Straight from the Heart
When I open my eyes to the morning the first thing I do is peer outside (usually from bed). If I see green mixed with the white of snow then my world is right! If a blue sky is in view, then it’s nearly perfect. I find these winter colors inspiring, especially when considering the features that accompany them during this time.
Fat snowflakes filling the sky in a downward spiral while cozy scarves guard your neck against the chilly air. Warm fireplaces and the aroma of burning cedar. Cold, clear nights dazzling the woods with predawn light. Strings of colorfully lit bulbs intertwined with giant ice spears teetering along the eaves while Frosty waves from across the street.
Beyond the pure allure of this, I am comforted in the familiarity of this time of year when white fills the forest and cold hangs in the air. With a dusting of tolerance, a shovel full of humor and a dumping of snow these months represent a season full of traditions, new and old.
We are embedded in the holiday season but the celebration shouldn’t be confined only to specific holiday dates. Here in the Mount Hood region it is also sledding and skiing season. The snowy conditions are ripe for snowshoeing and snow angels, and don’t forget that warm boots, steaming soups and traction tires, too are in play.
This year for a change, while nestled in front of the fireplace with my parents and brothers, a view of the giant moguls of the Cascade Mountains will fill the windowpane instead of the frozen midwestern lake I learned to ice skate on many years ago. We’ll find ourselves hunkered inside a warm cabin on the flanks of Mount Hood instead of my families home in a frigid Minnesota neighborhood.
Our voices will fill rooms with laughter and giddiness. We’ll take turns ganging up on each other over embarrassing adventures from last year, or five years ago, and laugh until our cheeks hurt.
I’ll sense Dad’s pride as he looks at his family sitting together around the kitchen table and I’ll feel Mom’s love before we dig into a sumptuous dinner when she insists that we all have to say a toast. One by one, we’ll raise our glass and deliver a line or two of humor, recollection or emotion.
We’ll bundle up with scarves and mittens to walk my dog Tischer around snow-lined roads just as we did with the family dog not so many years ago. Come evening, I’ll enjoy nose tingling hot totties sprinkled with nutmeg and a splash of rum that’ll eventually give way to fluffy comforters on soon-to-be-toasty beds. Curling up tight, I’ll again look out the window before my eyes say goodnight.
Watching snow crystals rest upon the window panes, I’ll think of the different sidewalks I’ve shoveled over the years. I’ll think of how many dinner tables I’ve sat around, trails I’ve skied and glasses I’ve raised. I’ll remember the snowballs I’ve thrown, mittens worn through, trees decorated and the many sweet, snow-filled dreams I’ve experienced. I’ll fondly remember the best of them all.
This season might not be nearly the same as my last 27, but it will not be all that different either. Location hasn’t influenced (and hopefully never will) one of my all-time favorite memories from seasons past: the warm scent of my Mom’s cinnamon buns drifting from the oven in the morning. I’m convinced they smell the best when it’s white and green with a touch of blue outside.
December 2008 /January 2009
