Santa's Boots!

It's that time of year again, when decorations bedeck every corner and crevice. Let it Snow, Let it Snow and All I Want for Christmas play in a loop in my head and I just spent thirty minutes in line at the post office, just to purchase one stamp for our Canadian cousins Chanukah card. Before I could give further explanation, the clerk affixed a stamp with a wreath, adorned with silver bells. Not exactly what I was thinking.

I'm no curmudgeon, I love everything about the holidays; music and mistletoe, candy canes and snow.

And although I grew up only celebrating Chanukah, my parents taught us to embrace all religions and traditions. So much so, that at the ripe old age of three, I was convinced Santa had arrived on a snowy night, when I heard the heavy stomping of boots and the jingle, jangle...of something.

And as some children do, even those who actually celebrate Christmas, the thought of this jolly fellow turned ominously scary; in the pit of my stomach fear rose and I cried out in hysterics. My mother ran to my beside as I screamed, "Santa is here!" She calmly explained, it was only my father, shaking snow from his boots, the metal clasps of his galoshes ringing out.

It occurs to me now, my mother never tried to dispel my belief in the man in the red suit that night. Perhaps that is why I have always loved this almost magical season of hope and expectations. For a brief shining moment, we can believe...anything is possible.

photo: blog, dances with dogs