Saturday morning, it was snowing in the Uintas

I promised I would post these...

...and I'm a girl who keeps her promises.

dashing through the snow

Last night we took a later than usual for the season jaunt along Christmas Street, strings of lights connecting house-to-house and reindeer prancing off the rooftops. Since you can't be in the Christmas Street neck of the woods and not hit up Bible Street, we headed there next. We took turns reading the signs that announce the arrival of the baby Jesus, skipping some pages completely covered in snow after yesterday's whiteout snowstorm. I'm not sure about my passenger (who may have been a wee bit ill from our supper and perhaps his breakfast and lunch, too) but Christmas isn't Christmas without these two favorite childhood spots. Last night was truly a holiday haut de jour*. After a little coaxing, I got the consent for one last trip: the Christmas window. The "Peas on Earth" display on Michigan probably wasn't the icing on the cake he was hoping for, but it sufficed to sum up the evening before we headed home with our seat heaters on high. I was happy to wake up to more snow this morning, for what is winter without white?

*Reading Eloise every so often isn't cutting it. My French grammar is abysmal. L'aidez-moi, s'il vous plait.

winter wonderland

happy weekend.

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wishing for winter

Beth, Kate and I took the shortcut to the library today, choosing to step out into the cold instead of walking down the long hallway with the portraits of the prophets. We bustled along, Mount Olympus to our coatless backs. "I want it to snow for my birthday. That's all I want*," I said as we slipped in the side door. Beth wanted snow for my birthday, too. As long as it's gone by Wednesday so she can fly home, she said pile it on. (Actually, she didn't say pile it on, but it's my birthday and my wish, and I say pile it on.)

Three hours later, as I helped set the table for Sunday dinner, the snow began to fall in big fluffy flakes, like bits of clouds floating down to coat the ground in a soft white blanket.

Snow came a day early, but waking up to a Winter Wonderland this morning was pretty fantastic.

* Fine. That's not all I wanted. I also wanted my brother Rich to do his funny voices. He's home from college for a week and I have missed his many silly voices - especially the voice when he takes it upon himself to talk for our dog. I knew he'd be shy about it since we have company, but, as we sorted spoons before dinner, I begged and out came a granule of gruff just for me. Thanks, Chard. Double wish. Check. Check.

Snow Day

New Year, New Nose, right? Well mine's new. At least from the inside. The outside remains the same, thank goodness. I've now joined the ranks of KJS and O, and my Uncle P, who sent a kind card in the post yesterday generously giving up the Least Deviated Septum Award in the family to yours truly. In a family of over 100 noses, that's saying something, no?

My stay at home has been a bit longer than anticipated. It's given me the opportunity to get used to waking up in my old room again, even though the walls aren't peppered with pictures and my big white dresser full of sweaters and scarves is over at the Yellow Brick House. I've missed most of the snow, minus trudging through the parking lot to the doctor's office for my post-op appointment yesterday. However, just as I did for so many years, I've woken these past few mornings with a sense for the fresh storm. That fresh snow glow that I remember from my growing up years streams through the roman shades and has been here to greet me as I put my nose to the window.

What is it about snow that brings silence? The blanket that covers all but the sound of flake falling atop fluffy flake, covering the ground in a powder, like sugar across Mom's French toast on a Saturday morning. Then, like poppers at a New Year's party, the silence is broken. The world is alive with whirling motors from snow blowers. Children's voices peak as they ride on saucers down hills between houses. Like the hill between Robinson's and Stevens'; the hill we thought was so big when we were so small, little Joey shouting "wheee!" all the way down. We build men of snow against backdrops of mountains made of snow; snow so fresh it makes us thirsty enough to cup our hands and scoop up mittenfuls at a time, flakes gathering on our lashes as we take a taste.

After a day full of white, after red flags have been hung in elementary school windows and snowballs have been packed by unassuming little boys and thrown at yellow school busses, as if some silent snowflake master of ceremonies is at command, the sun falls behind now-white mountains. We retreat indoors, hanging up hats and unraveling scarves. We put the soup on and listen for the kettle to steam. The crystals continue their flurry down to earth, sparkling a moment in the moonlight. Silence returns and night takes over, until we rise in the morning to a layer of white atop fence posts and windowsils. The whirlwind of another snow day begins, bright white light streaming through the shades. Children leap from their beds to see how much their Winter Wonderland has been added to since their eyes fell shut; since they began to dream of snow. Shades roll up and eyes ooh and awe as mothers and fathers pull damp mittens from radiators and heating vents. Mom starts the oatmeal. The silence is broken as a neighbor starts up the snowblower and we set out among the snowfalkes.

it won't be long before we'll all be there with...

S*N*O*W

I can't get enough of this wintry white stuff!
picture from here, via here.