Let it snow!

Ah! Christmas vacation! Snow, rest, lights, fire, hot cocoa, walks, cookies, books---all the things that make being away from the daily duties of teaching worth while.

On Christmas Eve I walked the dogs up the hill after dinner as the flakes fell on as silent o' night as I can remember. Lights glowed in the neighbors' warm houses as they celebrated their various seasonal rituals and traditions. In the quietude it was easy to seize the moment for its beauty, unlike those precious ones lost in the clatter of dishes and crackle of paper.

As I returned home, down the hill, our house glowed with warmth too.

On Christmas Day I walked the dogs again, this time in the other direction. I noticed that the snow sparkled, and I tried to think of a simile to describe it without using a cliche. So, that ruled out diamonds, frosting, sugar, pieces of glass, etc., even though they were apt.

While pondering, I decided to make a snow angel, so I put down the leashes and turned my back to the snow bank and sat, then lay down. Angel, the older dog, took it all in stride, but Brady cocked his head and looked at me like he was the smart one.

I began to move the snow with my arms and legs to form arcs for my "dress" and "wings." Only, I noticed I couldn't quite get my arms above my head like I remembered doing in the past. I tried harder, but it pained my shoulders.

My angel as fully formed as I could manage, I attempted to stand up. I didn't want to put my hands down to ruin the outline of my creation---but I couldn't get up.

Brady pranced around, laughing. He trotted over to help, and I said, "No, You'll ruin the angel."

It was no use, though. Wiggle and grunt though I might, I had no choice but to put my hands down in the snow to hoist myself, which left two deep impressions on the side of my perfect angel and a sprinkle of paw prints to boot.

I thought about trying another one to improve my technique, but the dogs were impatient. The important thing is I made the angel, and it was still pretty, though imperfect, there in the snow bank that looked like a frosted, sugary cake, decorated with a sort of angel-like impression.

When I got home, I told my husband the story and said my wing span isn't what it used to be.

He laughed and said, "That's because our body span is more than it used to be.

It was funny, only because he said "our."