The Weather Outside Is Frightful

Day 58: "Winter storm warning" does not always mean that we're going to have snow. Sometimes it means it's going to rain buckets and blow trees down. So far (knock on wood), my power has stayed on, perhaps due to some recent work on our substation. In any event, it seemed like a good day to put up the Christmas tree, and settle in with a cup of hot eggnog, a good book, wool socks on my tootsies and a warm cat curled up on my lap. In the aura cast by the lights on the tree, an era long gone sheds a glow and warmth to the home scene; a page turns, and I am in Dickens' world or my grandmother's, when Christmas was a time for the closeness of family and the spirit of good will. My friends, spread so far across the globe, process one by one through my thoughts with their greetings and well-wishes. I pick up my needlework to keep from dozing off mid-chapter, and think of the women before me who did their intricate work by candlelight. Bluster though it may, the storm has set a mood of nostalgia for a time I never knew, a gift borne on its gusts, and ringing Christmas bells on my wind chimes.