I slipped into my daughter's bedroom Monday morning to kiss her on the forehead before I left for work. She did not open her eyes, but she stirred a bit; I crept out before I disturbed her slumber. Looking at her in that brief moment brought to mind my memory of the first time she smiled at me.

She lay in her crib that stood where the bed stands now. She just more than two months old and had awoken from a nap--the only nap she would ever take in a crib. I came up to get her, and she stretched out and smiled at me. Her eyes were still blue, and her toothless smile sweeter than any I had ever seen before or have seen since. Her face was full of the bright peace that comes with a good rest. There was nothing else to do that winter but be with my baby.

"I hope it snows this week," I said to myself as I got into my car. I wanted a snow day off from school. Then, on Tuesday, Bill the Security Guy at our church told me he doubted we'd be back on Thursday for choir practice because snow was coming. The big kind of snow that keeps everybody in, Bill predicted.

"See you next week," he smiled as we left the church after practice. Mother Nature made good on Bill's promise early Thursday morning, and Della and I had our snow day. We ran to the store to buy the few things we didn't need because it seems that running to the store and buying something--in our case, sugar to make Christmas cookies--is part of the ritual of preparing for snow.

Snow, the great leveler, bids everyone stop what they're doing, go to the store, and get home, it seems. There high-powered lawyers ran alongside humble housewives to get storm rations. Everyone spoke to everyone else and speculated on the amount of snow we'd get and how much more would come with the next storm on Saturday. It was busy, intense, and very friendly.

At home, we drank chocolate, attempted to slide in the snow, made cookies and pumpkin bread, assembled a few Christmas tree ornaments, sang carols to the guinea pigs, and watched Holiday Inn, Frosty, Rudolph, Jack Frost, and the Charlie Brown Christmas Special.

We watched the big world beyond our little door from the window as Mother Natured tucked us all under a white blanket for a nice winter's nap.

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