Perhaps you are one of thousands, if not millions, who spent a few hours watching that old movie, “White Christmas,” with Bing Crosy, Rosemary Clooney, Danny Kaye, Vera Ellen. You might have noticed, while checking your weather report, that yes, this year, in Vermont we are having a White Christmas.
Well, that isn’t exactly what we’re having. It was an ice storm. Folks like my partner and me, with disabilities and limited funds for emergencies, have been inside for about a week now, avoiding all that beauty like the plague. The white in my Christmas this year comes from tears. Tears among my in-laws-to-be, as well, because the local grandchild, and her beloved parents, have had to stay home in Maine. Santa Claus even phoned on Christmas Even, to reassure the family that he would be arriving as scheduled. Lynne and I made it out that night, too, for worship and fellowship, despite the cold.
But a lot of New Englanders spent the holiday in shelters, thanking God that at least everyone is okay. One person died of carbon monoxide from running a generator in a garage. The local channels now run warning signals across the bottom of the programs, that if we feel woozy or our pets are acting weird, we need to open the windows and turn off the generators. This does not affect my family, but one worries for the others.
I did see, at Christmas Community Breakfast at church, a few ski tags on coat zippers; this does make fun and money, just as the movie explains. But right now, it’s all about the sadness of a lost holiday.
I haven’t made it out to the sales yet, despite the tempting ads: I went to the food co-op, because it looks like we’ll have more snow on Sunday. Hopefully, it will hold off until after church.