When I woke up this morning and looked out my bedroom window, snow was falling onto the pine trees, the cars in the driveway, and the river birches on the front lawn. Snow plows had come through during the night, but even so, the road was shining white, visible only because of the snow banks on either side. It’s warm enough that snow is sticking to the branches of the trees, outlining them with white.
My grades are handed in. The Christmas tree, decorated with white lights, gold garland, and a host of mismatched ornaments, fills the living room with a piney scent. The piano has been tuned. The garage is filled with firewood. The kitchen, thanks to Boy-in-Black and Beautiful Smart Wonderful Daughter taking a late-night trip to the grocery store, is bursting with food. I can barely close the refrigerator, and bags of goodies are piled on the counter.
I love snowy days when I’m not obligated to be anywhere. My husband, who took the week off, sits at the kitchen table, writing Christmas cards. Boy-in-Black and With-a-Why are still asleep, since they spent the middle of the night hanging out with some of our extras, including Quick, who is home from grad school. I'm working on a manuscript, but earlier I took a break to shovel the driveway and take a walk in the cold air. Now I’m sitting in a comfy chair with a cup of hot tea. I think we're ready for the holidays.