It's Christmas Eve (well, it's 1:30PM) and I'm happy to report that it's snowing outside. It's actually coming down hard enough that it's beginning to cover the mulch. I know that it's supposed to switch over to rain pretty quickly but it sure is nice for right now.
When it first started to snow twenty minutes ago, Kim was the first to notice. "It's snowing," she called out. Of course, the kids are all up in their bedrooms doing who knows what so I don't think anyone heard. Five minutes later, though, Jay popped out of his room and yelled "Hey, it's snowing." I just smiled. Now, here I sit, turning my head around to look out the window every two minutes to see if it's still coming down.
While I know it wasn't the case, my memory tells me that we always had a white Christmas when I was growing up in upstate New York. I just took it for granted then. In fact, when I'd hear Bing Crosby singing that he was dreaming of a white Christmas, I never really understood why. "Doesn't everyone already have a white Christmas," I'd ask myself? It took a long while for me to realize that wasn't the case.
Now that I'm an "old man" living south of the Mason-Dixon line, I don't even like snow. I've forgotten how to drive in it. I hate to shovel it. My back is too old to sled on it. But, I think I finally understand why Bing was singing that tune. He wanted to be taken back to a simpler, quieter, more carefree time. Me, too.
This is where the magic happens.
