Memories of my long-awaited white Christmas

By Brittany Strickland

December 3, 2007 | As a child, each year I hoped for one thing when it came to the holidays -- a puffy and powdery "white Christmas" -- and each year, that never happened. Then, finally, when I was 11 years old, my wish came true. My family had planned a winter trip to Germany and we were going to be finally having a white Christmas, skiing across the Alps by day and drinking warm cocoa by night.

We got started three days before the holidays, waking up at six in the morning to get a head start on the drive ahead of us. It was a clear day as we left our house and my sister and I immediately got cozy in the back seat, situating ourselves as to find the most comfortable positions; my legs diagonally laying across hers, hers tucked under mine. My parents turned on the cassette player and put in Fastball's "The Way." It was always our travel song and it motivated us for the ride.

We arrived at the hotel in the evening, feeling warn out and definitely ready for bed. The next day was going to be a big one, our first day of skiing, and I was exhausted.

I woke up the next morning to find my mom opening a big box of winter clothing at the foot of my bed. The plastic tub was exploding with mittens, long-johns, and snow pants. The sweaters looked so warm and welcoming. The ski boots, not so much. I slunk myself out of bed. We all piled on layer after layer. Socks were duplicated and hand-warmers were inserted. It was time to go to the slopes. My parents had to practically drag me out of the hotel room, for not only was I tired and unwilling to go out in the cold air, but also, I was stuffed all around with clothing and unable to move my limbs in an even remotely coordinated fashion.

We started the day on the rope tow, moved on to the t-bar, and were eventually up the mountain looking down at the city. After only a couple of runs I was completely tuckered out. My legs were tired, my stomach was sore, and my eyes would not stay open. I was waiting for my dad at the bottom of the hill when, before I knew it, I was out like a light. I awoke to my mom standing over me. I had completely fallen asleep in the snow and I was perfectly content with that fact.

We had a few more days of skiing down the slopes before we had to go home. Each day, I had a minor protest in the morning and each day my mom started to realize that I was falling asleep earlier, waking up later, and even taking multiple naps on the slopes. I kept going though. The Christmas season called and I couldn't bear to leave a winter wonderland without every possible experience. When it was time to go, however, I was not opposed.

We got home only to find that my stomach aches worsened and I had fallen asleep the entire way home. It was time for the doctor's office. The consensus: mononucleosis.

So it turns out that my first white Christmas was full of skiing across the Alps by day, drinking warm cocoa by night, and sleeping the whole thing away. I would be happy to stay home for the holidays the next year and enjoy my dry and arid holidays.

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