I write amidst an Arctic chill laced with a shallow and fluffy snow, the first falling of any significance, and a trifle at that; still, the treachery of potential icing on the roads isn’t diminished by the promise of milder air just a few days hence – It is, after all, winter!

I am an aberrant to the norm:  I love the arctic air, loathe the more mild climes that make forays into the dead of winter, and actually find comfort in the arms of old man winter.  I was never constructed for so-called “fun-in-the-sun”; I would feel naked and vulnerable.

    Irving Berlin wrote the classic Christmas song, “I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas.”  Everyone knows it.  Everyone loves it.  Everyone sings it, though whether they admit to the latter is another story!

Did you know that Berlin wrote it while relaxing by a pool in southern California with a temperature of 84 degrees?  Yep!  He was reminiscing nostalgically for the snow-laden Siberia of his youth.  I hope a revelation like this doesn’t damage the song for you! 

Yearnings are universal, especially amidst hardship; otherwise, such longings parley into a more morally-ambiguous ambition.  They speak to something innocent and especially pleasing to the heart; too often, it is for something lost or no longer to be had.