It’s cold in Florida. So cold I had to bring my Christmas cactus inside. The wind howled through the front window reminding me of our home in Newton New Jersey. Each window of the one hundred plus Victorian had it own melody, some more big brass than others.

We planned to drive north for the holiday, but my husband woke up with the stomach flu and I rushed him to the emergency room. The good news? It wasn’t the corona virus.

We changed plans. We’ve had to do so many times and I’ve gotten good at doing it.

I thought, of all the past Christmas gatherings, which one would I choose to have again. Well the obvious one is when our children were little.

However, the year there was a blizzard was special.

Both our kids were home for the holidays, and many family members were expected for Christmas dinner. It started snowing in the morning, lightly. Then became blinding throughout the day. Around midnight we watched the flakes morph into large snowflakes, the ones we cut out of paper and hung on a tree. It became quiet. The quiet that had a noise of its own. We made angels in the snow and ate dinner in our pajamas.

It’s the Christmas I picture, again and again.

Every person, young and old, will remember this Christmas, the pandemic Christmas. Probably for what they didn’t get to do, and that will make it special.

. . . . just saying

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