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Last Friday, it was
possible to stand at the thermometer and, literally, watch the
temperature fall. A day that reached temperatures above 70 degrees, had
temperatures that evening below freezing. A drastic change in less than
24 hours.
Although the
official start of winter is more than two weeks away, the dropping
temperatures before the Christmas holiday bring to mind snowy images of
Christmases past. Those of us who are willing to date ourselves remember
winter seasons that were nearly always white, with ground that was
buried beneath multiple layers of snow, ice and sleet.
I remember a
year when we received two inches of snow, followed by a day of sleet,
which froze on top of the snow. More snow fell, than another day of
sleet, then more snow. As a child, I stood on the top layer, and with a
small bounce, broke through the frozen layer to the next section of
snow. My father, walking out to shovel the driveway, would break through
the various layers, struggling to reach his destination.
I remember another year
when high winds blew across the snowy fields of the
Marietta
suburbs, making “snow rollers”--a rare phenomenon. Once the initial
“seed” of the roller is started by the high wind, it begins to roll,
collecting additional snow from the ground as it rolls along, leaving
trails behind it. It was as if invisible children had played in the
fields in the night, leaving behind not a single footprint.
One year,
the snow-covered ground was coated with a full day of flurries, and when
night fell, the street lights and Christmas lights shimmered and
sparkled, as if the ground had been scattered with miniature diamonds.
My mother and I walked around the block that night, not to see the
Christmas decorations, but to watch the world glitter and glow as if the
stars themselves had settled in the snow.
I remember one year we
let our dog, a
Chihuahua,
outside for a break, and when she left the porch, she disappeared. We
had to shovel out a space in the yard where she could do her business.
Another year, we had to shovel snow on building rooftops to keep the
beams from collapsing.
To think,
some Calhoun
children have never seen more than an inch of snow.
I always dream of a
white Christmas, not only because my best childhood Christmas memories
were white, but also because a white Christmas seems so rare any more.
No one wishes for a redclay mud Christmas, though sometimes it seems
that’s all we get anymore.
The Farmer’s
Almanac barely gives hint to the possibility of a white Christmas this
year, noting, “Winter temperatures will be slightly below normal, on
average, with near-normal snowfall. The coldest temperatures will be
around Christmas and in early, mid, and late January and early
February.”
Of course,
our “near-normal snowfall,” looking at the past several years, could
mean “none.”
The song, White
Christmas, is ranked as the most famous and popular of all the Christmas
songs. I think this is because so many of us really do dream of a white
Christmas, just like those ones we used to know.
May the days
of this holiday season be merry and bright, and may this, and all our
Christmases, be white.
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