dreaming of a white christmas no longer

Moving from my childhood Northwest Missouri home to St. Louis was not much of a culture shock, until winter rolled around. I discovered that people ate sour cream in their chili (we used ketchup) and that St. Louis rarely saw snow. When it did, it wasn’t enough to have much fun in. This year has been different. Last weekend, St. Louis saw around 6 inches; enough to take a sled down Art Hill. Of course, by Wednesday, it was 50 degrees and by Thursday all of the snow was gone. I left the 60 degree city this morning to join my family for Christmas, but have been weigh laid in Kansas City. A winter storm has hit; I am only seeing the edges of it from my hotel room – sleet and some snow, but my grandparents are stuck in the thick of it – white outs, wind, 7 – 11 inches of snow, a 20 car accident, and 100 miles of closed interstate. Luckily they also stopped for the night before it got worse.

There is something about snow that just helps the Christmas spirit. Something about snow that is magical. Since I’ve lived in St. Louis, I (and my former roommate from South Dakota) have longed for snow; for snow days off of school; for good sledding. This year the dreaming stops for the white has become reality. When I reach my parent’s house, I will be able to gaze out my window into the moonlit night, study the sparkling snow, and dream of a white Christmas no longer.