On a Quiet, Snowy Morning

Maybe it's the calm before the storm, even though the "storm" isn't weather-related. 

In a figurative sense, all the Christmas stuff tends to be the "storm" because we spend so much time trying to dot every "i" and cross every "t" dealing with a myriad of presents, cards, cookie plates, meals, etc. 

We go a little crazy at Christmas, and often we vow that we're gonna cut back next year.

Then, next year comes, and then we once again think about the people who are steadily in our lives and those who come and go AND those no longer in our lives. 

I think many of us tend to think a LOT about the latter.  

On this quiet morning before the storm of high-level Christmas activity begins, I'm thinking how pleased my parents will be when they see that Christmas dinner will be served in their home at Colburn.

Mr. and Mrs. Santa (reminding Debbie of her family Christmas memories)  will stand in that same garden window where Mother and Harold spent so much time, talking through daily events and watching squirrels race back and forth from trees to their feeders.

Yes, Debbie has a new dining-room set, and Debbie is hosting Christmas dinner in the very home where Mother and Harold lived for more than 20 years and where we often gathered for Christmas dinner.

It will be a first, but then again, it will be a return to some traditions established when our parents moved to Colburn back in the early 1990s. 

"A new wrinkle," I called it, when Debbie made the offer to host Christmas dinner Friday night during our trip to Spirit Lake for Willie's game. 

Yup, it's quiet now, and that aspect of the upcoming Christmas hustle bustle is a lovely thought for so many reasons. 

As some new-fallen snow and the Vienna Boys Choir CD help me fully immerse myself into the Christmas spirit during this blog posting, another lovely thought comes to mind.

Indeed, the hustle bustle makes us crazy, but much of this self-induced stress evolves into treasured moments of visiting with friends and just plain thinking about friends.  

A neighbor rolled up her sleeves yesterday morning,  baked some cranberry cakes and then came for a visit. She left with a couple of jars from this fall's jelly project.

The in-between-gifts part, though, turned out to be most delightful, as it often does.  

As she sat in the Amish rocker, which we purchased from her store, sampling one of my fresh butterflake rolls AND approving, Bill came in from the woods, and we all enjoyed some catching up on what's happened in our mutual lives over the past year.  

This morning, after feeding horses and cleaning stalls, I set off for a walk up our road through the darkness with a cookie plate carefully stuffed inside my vest. 

Snow was falling on a calm, quiet landscape, and, of course, on me. 

Eventually, I reached Gary's mailbox and placed the cookie plate inside. 

I don't know if Gary eats all the goodies or if he shares them with his grandkids, but I do know that the cookie plate serves as a token of neighborly friendship and acknowledgement that we do appreciate all those times that my longtime friend and classmate honks whenever he drives past our house. 

The tangibles in this world are pretty black and white, but their significance extends across years, geography and lives, sorta like that ornament my sister Laurie pointed out on their Christmas tree yesterday:  yup, it makes her think of her past and her teaching friend Diane. 

Happily, opportunities present themselves during these quiet moments on snowy winter days for thinking about endless wonders and the most precious gifts in this life every day we live here on earth. 

And, then the quiet ends.

And, then we set off to engage in some more hustle-bustle of the season, sometimes getting stressed out but always doing our best at living the moments and then sealing them in our minds to be contemplated and cherished the next time it turns quiet.   

Yup, I think Mother and Harold will be enjoying this Christmas with its special touch as family members gather next to that garden window, enjoy Debbie's version of Christmas feast and create a new memory to go along with the old. 

Happy Sunday.  May you enjoy some quiet, reflective time.