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Our Christmas was white, very white…all day.  It was beautiful.  And the next day, snow all day long.  We were wrapped in a fluffy white cocoon.  At night, the snow lit up the hillsides.  No flashlights or outdoor lights needed.  Mae walked her boyfriend down the road to his car and they discovered two barn owls perched on the neighbor’s fence.  Truly, a winter wonderland…or another world entirely. 

I called Mom to tell her about the snow and the two, brief power outtages we’d had.  Then, like a little gift deposited straight from the cell phone airwaves, my mom went nostalgic on me.

“Do you remember the Christmas that we had the big ice storm and we ate all the shrimp?  (This was in Wisconsin).  Your aunt and uncle were supposed to come and we didn’t think they were going to make it; and you kids ended up sleeping in our bed with us.  Do you remember that?  And your dad was putting together toys by candlelight.”

“No, Mom.  I don’t remember that.  But did Auntie J and Uncle Z ever make it?  And was there any shrimp left for them?”

“They did make it, but there wasn’t any shrimp left.”

“There was that one Christmas in Florida when your dad was up until 3:00 in the morning trying to put together a bike.  He finally ended up taking it to a gas station to get some help.”

I love these glimpses into the past and wish these conversations would happen more often.  It’s funny that talk about the snow would be the impetus for the memory.  Take the snow, add the wonder and mystery of the season, throw in Christmas memories, swirl together and there you have it: a snowglobe to the past.