Driving home over the moon-lit mountains and valleys from Killington through Rutland and Whitehall toward Lake George, I listened to a number of stations fading in and out from western Vermont to eastern New York. I settled on one clear station which aired the Delilah show (somewhat sentimental if not totally sappy) and listened to callers requesting songs for their loved ones, from a young girl fondly remembering her favorite Christmas when her single mother had no money for presents or dinner and secret "angels" showed up Christmas morning with all the goods, to a love-struck boy dedicating a song to his girlfriend, to a woman wanting to send out a song to a secret love. It's all too sweet but at the same time I couldn't stop listening. Their drama minimized my own in a way, and took my mind off my painful thigh for a while. For each request, Delilah played a Christmas song, and when the last request for "Christmas Shoes" came in, I had to turn off the radio. That song is just too sad and I knew it would do me in.
Today at work, I changed the calendar from November to December. When we looked out the window to see the first snowflakes of the season dancing outside our window, my friend Mary decided to remove the now-obsolete autumn decorations and replaced them with snow-flocked pine bows and large snowflakes. It seems, whether I'm ready or not, Christmas is right around the corner. Maybe that first batch of Christmas cookies will infuse me with holiday spirit, or maybe listening to the same Andy Williams Christmas album my Mom loved will do it. I'm not sure when or where, but I'm sure it will hit, and I hope it hits hard!
Photo credit: irishviews.com