I love Christmas so very much. Some people appreciate the stark, empty, simple, and clean feeling of the house once the holiday decor is taken down. That’s great, but I’m not one of them. I need some glow and magic to get me through the grey winter days and long winter nights.

The timing of Christmas never entirely made sense to me. I know, the end of the year has been a traditional time for feasting and celebration and bringing in the evergreen for centuries, but our December Christmas nowadays comes at a time when my head is still full of the last of autumn's color, and the heavy, thick, insulating snows of winter haven't yet arrived. We dream of a white Christmas because snow is still a novelty.

The storm came a few years after Santa had started delivering toys to children in the villages surrounding ours in Northern Norway. We were so very happy together, and, having no plans to have children of our own, we just wanted to have a way to spread that joy and the wonder of the solstice season to those who might not otherwise feel they had anything to celebrate.

Many of you know I’m passionate about Christmas. Some of you also know that I’m passionate about my story / rendition of Mrs. Claus that I started building last holiday season when I wrote her origin story.

We all have Hallmark Christmas movie images in our heads of an old-time holiday, bundled up shoppers in the snow smiling at each other and calling out greetings.