It was a pleasant 24th of December. The snow we had anticipated arrived, only not in the quantity I feared. We were warned that a gigantic winter storm was upon us, but in truth, only about four inches really made it’s way to St. Paul. I wasn’t disappointed because I still needed to pick up some last minute gifts and didn’t relish the idea of canceling that, or trying to navigate through mounds of snow and slush. It did however,  hit Duluth, which prevented Mychal from spending the holiday with us. I couldn’t help but be a little sad.

Ira and I picked up the gifts we still needed and then we stopped at the grocery store for our holiday dinner supplies. Ouch!  This was getting costly! Good thing it only comes once a year.  After dropping everything off at home, we grabbed Jeren, headed out to dinner, then turned around and raced back home again. Rush, rush rush! After all that running around it was nice to finally relax.

Later we opened presents and teased each other about what we got. Jeren had given me a gift certificate for Barnes and Noble, but camouflaged it in a box that contained weights – no way I would have guessed that one!  After opening all our gifts, we ended our evening by watching a movie and then doing stuff on our computers. It was not like holidays past, I thought, but consoled myself by remembering that those who live in the past never move forward. Still, I was happy.  I spent the evening with people I love, and it made me happy. I guess that’s what counts.

Now, I’m looking out the window before I go to bed, and marvel at the dark expanse of  gray, blurry sky – it’s quite beautiful actually. I wonder like I did when I was a little girl. Will Santa come to our house by morning, or will he pass it by? My parents didn’t believe in make-believe and fantasy so we were always told he was a myth and the only presents we would receive or should expect, would be the ones from them.  But I never fully believed that, and hoped each year I would find something, no matter how small, on Christmas morning, picked out just for me, and from far, far away.

Obviously, as a Jew I do not believe in Christmas, and probably shouldn’t believe in Santa either for that matter, but to be completely honest, there is this tiny part of me that can’t completely let go of the jolly man with long white beard and the heart of gold that thinks of everyone but himself.  And there I go again, marching to a different drummer despite all odds.

In baseball when you lose a game, you never really have to feel bad. You can always say they’ll be a next time, because there always is. And that’s what I say about Santa as I set out his cookies and milk. If not this time, maybe next.

Oh! And about that weather forecast – tomorrow’s the big day I guess. I was off by a day. We’ll see.