After all the dishes were washed, the kitchen floor swept and whatever else needed doing was done, I settled down in a comfortable chair near the window and began to watch the traffic on what is a usually busy highway, there were no "convoys" of cars and trucks like in the summer. Instead there were 2 or 3 cars at a time , if that. And I sat there quietly, as the overcast sky began to snow. A few Christmas lights twinkled through the snow, and reflected in the beams of headlights. The house was ever so quiet, peaceful. This aging house has seen at least 180 Christmases, alot good , and some not so much. A lifetime of memories, happy, sad, funny and unforgettable.
The smells, like milk being poured into the separator, and turkey roasting in the coal fired cook stove , the sweeet richness of Northern Spy apples, lined up in bushes in the summer kitchen, getting sweeter as they warm up after being brought in from on a chill Fall day. And the whiff of coal smoke as the front door opened to another aunt, uncle, or cousin carrying their special dish made for Christmas dinner. The incomparable smell of fresh hay, the icy, metallic smell of a brutal cold winter day. Those days when the only sounds were the old clock ticking and the rocker creaking.
The lights along the porch railing are still on, and the lights on the tree reflect in half a century of ornament collecting. I think I can still remember when I bought or made every one of them. As each vehicle passes I wish it's occupants the best Christmas and an even better New Year.
For awhile I have able to fully enjoy my solitary thoughts. Looking forward and backward at the same time. The snow is falling faster, huge flakes have covered everything, it will be a white Christmas, though myself I will never quite be able to reconcile
