When I was a young girl my family lived in Northern CA. At Christmastime we travelled over the Grapevine (a steep pass through the mountains from the Central Valley to the High Desert) to visit my favorite Grandma in Long Beach. Sometimes the wind was howling. Other times the pass was closed due to snow. But most of the time we made it through with no trouble.
The unpredictability of the weather stressed out my poor parents, but it excited me. It was Christmas, with the possibility of snow. It was the magic of the Polar Express in the safety of my own car, with my very capable parents at the helm.
When we arrived at Grandma's, she'd have the fire going and candles lit. Her dining room table would shimmer with her good china and silver. A feast would be awaiting us and afterwards, a good nap in my father's lap near the fire. I could hear the bell then. I wonder if I will hear it again someday.
