posting from the slopes

It's raining here, in Killington, Vermont. The fluffy flakes of snow that fell on Sunday night have morphed into a slushy, icy sludge. Today is not the day that I want to don my snowboarding gitch and head out on the slopes. It's wet and overcast. This afternoon, I'm content to curl up indoors, complete with a glass of red wine, and a few minutes in solitaire and peace... putting pen to paper, metaphorically, I want to try and capture the magic of the birthday surprise from last night.

"We arrived at 47 Lewis Rd. around 6:30pm. The lights in the house were on, and we could smell the sharp sting of a burning wood fire in the damp, thick air. We rang the doorbell; standing on the step with gift in hand. Heard the thundering of footfalls pounding over to the front door, while the rain drops beat a rhythm on the front handrail. A face peeked out from the rectangular window slice. A furrowed brow, beneath a bright pink and white striped beanie, took the three strangers in. All at once, a smile broke out, and the door opened. "Auntie Lisa? What are you doing here?" Then a quick retreat back into the door to yell out "Whitney!!!"

Whitney, foot thumping alerting us to her arrival, is breathless at the door. "Why are you here?"

"We heard there was a birthday girl.... Happy Birthday Whitney!", we yell and break into the birthday song. A half smile and look of delight on her face, Whitney announces, "Well, you can come inside!"

Inside we go...into the heated room, into the giggles and hugs of the girls. Into the astonished exclamations of "I had no idea you were coming! Did Mommy know? Why didn't anyone tell me?" The tugs on the arm to show us the latest story, article of clothing, silly joke. The pokes and prods and kisses of delight. The laughter.

Into the kitchen, easing into the chaotic flow of a regular evening with a busy family, finding our bearings with the mashing of the potatoes, the pouring of the red wine, the setting of the table. Getting our groove amongst the requests flying through the air "Girls, let's set the table. Aly, help Mommy with the potatoes."

Quick snatches of conversation, questions and comments layered with the jokes and the silliness and the excited hum of a change in the evening's plans. A sudden upheaval. Christmas in March.

And we closed the door against the rain and the windy, winter weather, and embraced the warmth within."