white Christmas

Sometimes I still find the midwest a bit of a novelty. I grew up on a busy street with a fenced in yard. I was never allowed in the front yard alone as a child, not even to get the mail. We rarely spoke to our neighbors, partly because I'm not sure they all spoke English, let alone invited them in or had them over for supper. I didn't realize that kids still delivered newspapers--I thought that was something that only happened in the towns where Leave It to Beaver or Lassie took place. White Christmases were something I had only ever seen in the movies. 

But then I moved here, to Eau Claire, Wisconsin. I've lived here for six years, but it still manages to catch me off guard and charm me. 

Today, for example... When I put on a hat and mitten to go shovel the snow off the front driveway, I felt like I had walked out into a Norman Rockwell painting, or the Charlie Brown Christmas special, or one of those little collectible Christmas villages middle aged women collect and arrange on their living room tables for the winter. The visiting grandkids of the elderly couple across the street were playing in the snow with their golden retriever puppy. They had skis attached to their feet and were clumsily making their way to the park across the street with their mother. As their dog, Tango, ran up to greet me, slipping and snuffling, they waved to me, calling out "How are you?" and "Beautiful day, isn't it? Merry Christmas!"

Even after six years of negative temperatures, vehicles rusted by salt, potholes, and humid summers riddled with gnats... Wisconsin still manages to surprise and charm me.