Christmas in Bend: Snow

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I’m not a particularly romantic person.  I’m not a fan of flowers or jewelry, so I’ve asked Jeff to skip giving me either one.  The only piece of jewelry I wear (other than my wedding ring) is a solid silver band on my right hand that I never remove.   To me, romance is Jeff taking out the trash without being asked or spending time with Dutch so I can have some free time.  For birthdays and Christmas, my idea of the dream gift is a day spent lounging and reading or spending a fistful of cash shopping alone for house decor or new jeans.  By nature I am practical to a fault.  It’s really kind of a sickness — how I think balancing my checkbook and making grocery lists is fun, somehow.

All of this to say that I’m not a fan of snow.  Almost everyone I know (except my dad who is most likely the giver of my practical gene) loves snow.  Especially in the valley, a few little wispy white flakes and everyone goes bonkers.  To me, it’s kind of the same as rain.  I’m pretty much happy whatever the weather, so it’s all the same to me.  But today we are in Bend, celebrating Christmas with Jeff’s mom and step-dad, his brother and wife and their daughter, and his grandma.  My parents are here as well.  Jeff and I and my parents and Dutch are staying in the guest house, a brand new darling 1,100 s.f. cottage that makes upscale resorts look like shacks.  So this morning, as we lifted Dutch from his portable crib and let him scurry into bed with us, we looked out the window behind our bed.

It had snowed.  Everything was covered with a blanket of brilliant white.  Flurries of beautiful snow continued to fall all morning.  Dutch 2wa`1`w2qq21 (that was Dutch typing–he’s helping me write this).  Dutch was fascinated, my mom was ecstatic, and Jeff was pulling on his sweats  and shoes to go gather a snowball to show Dutch.  Later that morning, Dad and I took a long walk in the snow, the icy wind biting our cheeks, but the warmth of the Central Oregon sun warming our backs as we walked and talked.  Later as I was carrying Dutch from the guest house to the main house, I listened to the snow crunching underfoot as Dutch chatted happily and pointed at the doggies, the trees, the snow.  I realized then that there is something truly magical about snow.  Yes, it makes driving more difficult and it’s messy to clean up.  But here, tucked into our warm cabin on Christmas Eve, a fresh blanket of snow is the icing on our perfect holiday cake.  Now, the sun is bright and the sky is blue, so the fields surrounding the house are glimmering blinding white.  The fire inside is crackling, and I’m thinking about another cup of hot tea and maybe even one more sugar cookie.   Christmas in Bend has already been so wondrously … well, romantic.  I haven’t glanced in my checkbook or even thought about what I’ll be cooking for dinner when we get home.  I’m going to savor every moment of snuggling with Jeff, laughing at Dutch tear through tissue paper, lounging with my feet up, and walking in the icy crunch of snow.  I’m thankful for this Christmas in Bend, and I’m thankful for the snow.