Dreaming

I get the feeling that around here a white Christmas is neither anticipated nor dreamed of. Judging from recent events, Oklahomans don’t really care for snow. I saw a plow truck with its hopper filled with sand, but it was very tentative about using the plow or the sand. There I was, a Mainer enjoying a little bit of Maine-like winter and everyone appeared to be…let’s say - put off by it. I don’t think people want any more snow.

I grew up where you measured winter in feet of snow and months of cold. A Christmas without snow was unheard of. If it happened, we felt very uncomfortable, our internal barometers knocked off kilter. We went to school in blizzards in northern Maine, and dressed in so many layers of protection that we always made sure to go to the bathroom before going outside. I remember one year when they closed school early because a snowstorm started while we were there.  By the time the school bus made it out to our house in the country, the driver had to carry my little sister to our door because the snow was too deep for her to push through it. I’m used to snow, especially at Christmas time.

But not to worry. I’ve done this before. We spent four years in New Zealand. Southeast of Australia, New Zealand is in the southern hemisphere and December is in summer there. Not even a chance of snow! Our first Christmas there we went with friends to have a picnic on the beach, complete with mutton sausage and a swim in the Pacific. We spent subsequent Christmas breaks visiting Hot Sands Beach where you can dig down through the sand to hot water springs, making your own little spa; we swam in  Lake Taupo (some of us – it’s an icy volcanic lake); and went to Kareotahi, a beach of sand on the Tasman Sea that is as black as coal. I found that if you’re on a white sand beach and you squint hard enough, it almost looks like snow.

I would show our friends there pictures of our winters in New England, and I swear, in their eyes was kindled a little look of longing. They really wanted to experience that kind of Christmas. However, when my husband traveled in Africa and showed some gentlemen a picture of our house in winter, they were horrified. “You must pray,” they insisted, “that God change your weather.” We humans judge the norm by our own experiences. So I know that my “white Christmas” dreaming is very subjective.

We've been blessed to have such a variety of Christmas experiences. The snowy ones, for me, evoke a sense of nostalgia and rightness, but the beachy ones were other-worldly and great fun. I know now that Christmas will come to pass, whether white or green or golden brown. With the new friends we've made here, and the great love they've shown us, more than ever I realize it’s what Christmas means more than how it looks that’s important. I’m OK with that. I promise not to pray for more snow, but you will forgive me, I hope, if when it happens, you see a little smile on my face.