Christmas, You Wonderful Thing You

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That's right. Don't be modest. You know what I'm talking about.

Did I deserve all you gave? I don't know. Was I completely and utterly head over heels grateful and delighted and forever worshipful of all things Christmas and Santie Claus? Oh hell yeah. I mean, heck yeah.

Christmas lights at Temple Square in Salt Lake City
On the heels of one of the busiest work weeks I can remember - I mean who schedules a conference call for 4pm the Friday before the Christmas break? And no, I'm not going to remember any of what we talked about when I'm back in the office. Anyway, on the heels of that, the storm of the season moving through San Francisco, me frantically trying to pack for a couple of weeks' time rolling from Tahoe to Utah and back - you rallied the Elven folk to give me the greatest gift of the season.

Shredding High Rustler
A bright blue powder day at Alta on Christmas. Christmas Day, Christmas! I mean, seriously? All those little Elfish hands dropping all those bazillion little snowflakes? You DO care that I ski Alta.

Last year's Christmas presents
First you had to get rid of my siblings and their kids - keep them at their homes, send them off to their various in-laws; leave it just Mom and me. (Guys, I love you but come on, this would never have happened with you here.) Then you had to drop another 12-14 inches of snow on Christmas Eve without stranding me and my Mom out for dinner, leave time for the skies to clear, the roads to be plowed and Little Cottonwood canyon to open. Finally, whether that was you, the humongous heart of my Mom, or a little of both, I got the hall pass to bail on Christmas morning and head to the mountains.

Wow, it almost makes me feel selfish reading that back aloud.

Cousin Liz ripping freshies off High Rustler

Okay, over it.

Christmas morning was the highlight of the week (I mean ski-wise, Mom, not quality time with you and shopping at the Patagonia outlet!) book-ended by skiing with my cousins, Liz and Greg, face shots down High Rustler, no lines, hiking for fresh tracks; the memories racing back from my ski bum years.
Cousin love. Not that kind. Me, Greg and Liz. In this family, I'm short.
A good day of skiing resets everything.

As for the rest of the Christmas week? An especially great opportunity to spend time with my Mom, time to be mothered, to remind her why I'm her favorite, to sleep in, to watch movies, to take walks, to watch the snow fall across the city, to eat cheese for dinner and popcorn for dessert, to play with jewelry and makeup and wear jammies all day.

Santa, you outdid yourself this year. An exceptionally special Christmas. I love you, Mom. I love you, snow. But more you, Mom, of course.

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