{from December 2016} We start the morning watching the men’s 30K freestyle in Davos, our heads unconsciously bobbing in rhythm with the skiers’ amazingly fit bodies levering over the snow. They cross the finish line and some of them collapse, beards and mouths crusted with foam, snot, and ice. Their lungs heave as the cameras come in close on their faces. They lie with skis and poles splayed, ecstasy at the finish and the agony of the effort showing in crimson blotches on necks and cheeks, eyes closed, heads cradled back. We are thrilled — we who, compared to these unfathomably strong athletes, once merely dabbled in ski racing many moons ago.

On to the rest of the day. Open studio and art sale with happy crowds and the mingled scents of falafel, ink, cinnamon, coffee in the air. It is the season of light, magic, and wonder, and it takes no effort at all — no heaving lungs or anaerobic threshold — to radiate warmth to each other through our puffy coats, knit caps, and big scarves. I am with my friend with her beautiful baby, and her generous spirit makes me feel like this precious infant is mine, too, and we’re showing him off together to the friends we meet. All children should come to this existence that way — welcomed with sharing and open hearts. We walk around and around the studios, taking in collage art, freshly printed t-shirts, tiny ceramic vases, silver jewelry, bowls of chocolate kisses, and plates of butter cookies.

Back home, D tells me to change into long underwear. We’ll be heading out soon to cut our own Christmas tree! I layer up and we leave the house to Harley with the radio on to keep him company. In the driveway, we step up into the cab of our truck and check to make sure we’ve brought our own bow saw for the task. At the farm, we talk to a kind-faced woman who tells us there are many more trees to see in the third field up, don’t you worry. We drive slowly, park, and spread out in cheery search parties with other bundled families. Here and there, dogs pull at leashes, alive and eager, and children call out in excited voices from among the shaggy rows. After a few minutes we find our perfect tree. We both thank it out loud as we carry it back to the truck, its cut end unbelievably fragrant.

The tree breathes greenness into the living room. I’ll spend the evening decorating and listening to my favorite music, lost a little in the private world of my cherished memories, of my parents’ tradition of waking us late on Christmas Eve and letting us open all our presents then, me in a pink fleece bathrobe and oversize glasses on my young face. One year, I got a Barbie beauty salon, a big plastic thing, and I couldn’t believe how wonderful my life was at that moment. Today has felt like that — moment after moment of pure wonder at my jumbled, love-filled life. Do you believe in a divine something, a guiding star that traversed the night, an all-encompassing love that will fold you in its arms when you need it most? I do, and whether you and I agree or not does not change my love for you in the least. On this cold December evening, I count my blessings and prepare my heart for more. The light will never let us go.