It’s early on Christmas morning, my favorite part of the holiday. Abby and the cats are up with me, but Mike is still asleep, and the house is quiet. I lit the lights on our Christmas tree, pretending in my mind that Santa did it while we were sleeping, as he always had when I was a child. I’m drinking coffee in my Christmas Tree china cup, watching snow falling outside our windows.
Awaking to yesterday’s snow was the best gift ever. The wind howled and blew snow in gusty, eddying swirls. This was real snow that coated the trees and covered the ground. I could hear my friend, Bill Haynes, in my head; he would be cursing my wish for a white Christmas. He hates snow and cold weather. I was proven correct when Bill stopped by to deliver our present, his homemade rum balls, and to snarl at me as expected, “Well, you got your white Christmas.” “I did indeed,” I said.
The sky has lightened to a gunmetal gray. There will be more on and off through the day.
This will be my last column of 2022, another year recording life in West Tisbury. The seasons, the traditions, weather, parties, lives lived and lost.
Abby was our Christmas present three years ago. She has grown into a lovely companion who will sleep on my feet while I’m reading on the sofa this afternoon. There are always new books under our tree. She will also jump and toss snowballs in the air when Mike and I go outside to shovel or bring in wood.
Next week a new year will begin, bright with the promise of unknown possibilities, a clean slate. But for now, I am happy to be looking at the tree lights and the snow, Abby, Mona, and Nelson asleep around me, waiting for Mike to come downstairs.
