Tuesday, January 16, 2007

Dearest God,

The snow came! Yea! I've waited for those "angel kisses" to arrive in our neck of the woods. It's just a skiff, a brilliant white layer of wonderfulness.

Last night on my drive back home from the restaurant, I witnessed scattered flakes whirling in the wind. Inside I felt cozy and warm, the snow woke up my "it's finally winter" song. I couldn't wait to climb into my winter jams, snuggle into my snow sheets, and allow "sugarplums to dance in my head."

Oh, the memories of snow. I think of the "Frosty Returns" children's video that I've watched hundreds of times. Frosty sings, "Let there be snow, let there be snow..." And of course, I sing along. I've been singing that tune since September gave way to October.

When I grew up, there was so much snow! And when it fell the first time, it seems it stayed all winter long. Piles of gorgeous, beautiful snow. I turned those flakes into angels, forts, snowballs and snow people. And sometimes I just lay in the snow, looking heavenward giving thanks for the winter weather that brings out joy in me.

But what I remember most was the drive to Grandma's farmhouse. In tiny Atlanta, Indiana the 80 acre parcel was perched on a hill, with a great sloping valley. I spent a lot of time on that farm. My "growing", spiritual and emotion, took place in that vast land of opportunity. Whether singing as my grandmother played the old upright piano as the snow whirled and twirled outside the old log home, picking wildflowers down the road, helping Grandma snap beans or preserve tomatoes in the centry-old farm kitchen, opening gifts 'round the Christmas tree with its display of colorful bubbling oil ornaments or playing games in the old musty downstairs basement, I grew up, reflecting on the meaning of life. I found courage there and strength, and always peace.

On wintry Sundays we attended church with Grandma and Grandpa. After a luscious farm dinner with meat that fell apart and melted in your mouth, brown potatoes, spaghetti and cheese, pickled beats, cottage cheese, and rolls followed by your own favorite dessert (Grandma always made the favorite dessert of whoever was coming), we grandkids dressed ourselves in leggings, layers of socks, heavy winter coats, hats, gloves, and scarves and we hit the slopes. We took turns on sleds or simply laid down on the top of the hill and scooted downward toward the valley. Sometimes we rolled down. That activity turned me topsy turvy, my stomach too.

We would play for hours until one of the adults insisted we come in or nighttime fell or we were ready to explode in the bathroom. We didn't want to miss a single moment with our cousins or the snowy hills. Of course, the hills were high and soaring for us. They seemed to diminish in size by the time I became an adult. Funny thing!

Snow has always put me in a happy spirit. It's one thing my mother and I had in common. When the first snow fell, we telephoned one another. We both loved it. We would chat how much, which way it was blowing, the weather prediction, and how we planned to stay inside, sitting by the windows. I loved those calls. They're my favorite remembrances of my mom.

Today I won't be able to call my friends over, to play in the snow, have a snowball fight or build a snow fort. I have to go to work. But I'll carry my grand memories with me. I'll give thanks, breathe a prayer of praise and petition for others driving or walking in the fluffy white. I'll recall precious moments with favorite people. The whole of me will smile.

Great Weather Maker,
thank you for the snow
and all its memories.
Thank you
for the cold, crispy weather
that stirs up the memories.
And thank you
for my mother today
and her joy
on snowy days.
And while I'm enjoying
the weather I've been waiting for,
I remember those out in it.
Warm them,
keep them safe,
and for all the people
who turn grouchy
at the first snowfall
a cup of the finest hot chocolate.
Breathing in the air
of winter...

Love always, Andrea