This is my parents' back yard; my dad sent the image to me the other day, when the first of the Midwest winter storms hit, December 1st on the dot, as though Mother Nature were following our calendar. Everything was transformed; all of the trees were cloaked in magical white. Here at home, the boys went bravely out into the snow without the proper clothing; I couldn't find the snow pants, which at some point I had put into a box and carefully labeled. Box and pants are AWOL, gone into that Bermuda Triangle that is my attic. But I wanted to show you this picture which captures the major distinction between children and adults: my son, taking a snowball square in the face, and laughing.
I think there was a time, in the distant past, when I might have laughed about snow in the face, cold water dripping down under my clothes and onto my bare neck and chest--but those days are gone. Still, it's amusing to see somone love snow so much, love winter so much, when all I can think about is the driving, and wondering how hazardous it will be. Where did the child in me go? Is she, too, in my attic? Perhaps I'll make it my goal, this Christmas, to reclaim her before I forget who she is.
