"How would you like to spend Christmas at the cabin?”
By Christy Heitger-Ewing
I knew I was in trouble when I asked my son Kyler what he wanted for Christmas, and he replied, “A time machine.” Gee whiz, when I was a kid, all I wanted was a winking Western Barbie. “Where would you go in your time machine?” I asked out of curiosity. “Back to 1985,” Kyler said. Interesting that he picked ’85; that was the first time as a young girl that I – and my family, of course – spent the Christmas holiday at the cabin… The gear my parents packed for winter was much bulkier than the summer stuff that filled the car just months earlier. In place of flip-flops and sunscreen, we tossed in ice skates and snow boots. Instead of tank tops and water skis, we grabbed earmuffs and plastic sleds. Rather than life jackets and lemonade, we brought along lip balm and hot chocolate mix. As we drove down the cabin’s powder-covered lane, I cracked the window of our lipstick red Chevy Blazer and was struck by the breathless silence in the air. Gravel didn’t crunch beneath our tires. Leaves didn’t rustle in the blowing breeze. Dogs didn’t bark down on the docks. Children didn’t splash out in the water. Boat motors didn’t roar in the distance. Everything was beautifully still. My brother Dan and I exited the vehicle and trudged through mounds of snow to reach the lake, only instead of jumping in like we did in the summer, we slid around on top like a couple of playful harp seals. “Look, everyone!” Dan announced, motioning across the lake. “An untouched blanket of white as far as the eye can see.” I stood in awe at the edge of the frozen lake, mesmerized by the cabin’s soft, fluffy landscape. Then suddenly – pow – Dan pelted me in the back with a snowball. I knelt down and started rolling my own winter weapon, ready to wage an epic arctic fight. “Time out!” Dad called. “First thing’s first. We need a Christmas tree!” Dad grabbed a saw, and we climbed the hill across the road to access the back edge of our property. We didn’t hike back there in the summer because it was too overgrown with weeds and thorny bushes. The barren landscape of winter, however, allowed us to explore and find a 5-foot-tall white pine with silky needles, a symmetrical shape, and a slightly crooked trunk. Upon returning to the cabin, we lit the potbellied stove, sang Christmas carols, and decorated our tree with shiny green balls, bright red ribbon, and strings of tasty popcorn. I stared out the frosted window at the puffy snowflakes that gently fell from the sky. They were the intricate looking ones that elementary school art teachers replicate with construction paper and hang from classroom ceilings. I was safe, warm, happy, and at peace. There was no place on earth I’d rather be. And reminiscing about this warm childhood memory gave me an idea. “How would you like to spend Christmas at the cabin?” I asked Kyler. It was the closest thing there was to going back in time. His eyes grew wide as he flashed me the biggest smile I’d seen since the start of boating season. “Really?” Kyler asked as he wrapped his arms around me. “Did you hear that, Trevyn?” he asked his little brother. “We’re gonna spend Christmas at the lake!” “That reminds me!” Trevyn exclaimed. “I finished my wish list for Santa. I want a jet pack like Boba Fett and some live minions to play with.” “I’m sure Santa will get right on that,” I said. “So, Kyler, about this time machine: I’m just curious … why did you choose the year 1985?” “I thought it would be fun to hang out with you as a kid,” he said. “Were you cool, Mom?” “Hey, I had a Barbie who could wink,” I said. “Need I say more?” Kyler smiled and shook his head. “Well, at least you’re cool now, Mom,” Kyler said. “Yeah,” Trevyn piped in. “Cuz she’s taking us to the cabin.”
I knew I was in trouble when I asked my son Kyler what he wanted for Christmas, and he replied, “A time machine.” Gee whiz, when I was a kid, all I wanted was a winking Western Barbie. “Where would you go in your time machine?” I asked out of curiosity. “Back to 1985,” Kyler said. Interesting that he picked ’85; that was the first time as a young girl that I – and my family, of course – spent the Christmas holiday at the cabin… The gear my parents packed for winter was much bulkier than the summer stuff that filled the car just months earlier. In place of flip-flops and sunscreen, we tossed in ice skates and snow boots. Instead of tank tops and water skis, we grabbed earmuffs and plastic sleds. Rather than life jackets and lemonade, we brought along lip balm and hot chocolate mix. As we drove down the cabin’s powder-covered lane, I cracked the window of our lipstick red Chevy Blazer and was struck by the breathless silence in the air. Gravel didn’t crunch beneath our tires. Leaves didn’t rustle in the blowing breeze. Dogs didn’t bark down on the docks. Children didn’t splash out in the water. Boat motors didn’t roar in the distance. Everything was beautifully still. My brother Dan and I exited the vehicle and trudged through mounds of snow to reach the lake, only instead of jumping in like we did in the summer, we slid around on top like a couple of playful harp seals. “Look, everyone!” Dan announced, motioning across the lake. “An untouched blanket of white as far as the eye can see.” I stood in awe at the edge of the frozen lake, mesmerized by the cabin’s soft, fluffy landscape. Then suddenly – pow – Dan pelted me in the back with a snowball. I knelt down and started rolling my own winter weapon, ready to wage an epic arctic fight. “Time out!” Dad called. “First thing’s first. We need a Christmas tree!” Dad grabbed a saw, and we climbed the hill across the road to access the back edge of our property. We didn’t hike back there in the summer because it was too overgrown with weeds and thorny bushes. The barren landscape of winter, however, allowed us to explore and find a 5-foot-tall white pine with silky needles, a symmetrical shape, and a slightly crooked trunk. Upon returning to the cabin, we lit the potbellied stove, sang Christmas carols, and decorated our tree with shiny green balls, bright red ribbon, and strings of tasty popcorn. I stared out the frosted window at the puffy snowflakes that gently fell from the sky. They were the intricate looking ones that elementary school art teachers replicate with construction paper and hang from classroom ceilings. I was safe, warm, happy, and at peace. There was no place on earth I’d rather be. And reminiscing about this warm childhood memory gave me an idea. “How would you like to spend Christmas at the cabin?” I asked Kyler. It was the closest thing there was to going back in time. His eyes grew wide as he flashed me the biggest smile I’d seen since the start of boating season. “Really?” Kyler asked as he wrapped his arms around me. “Did you hear that, Trevyn?” he asked his little brother. “We’re gonna spend Christmas at the lake!” “That reminds me!” Trevyn exclaimed. “I finished my wish list for Santa. I want a jet pack like Boba Fett and some live minions to play with.” “I’m sure Santa will get right on that,” I said. “So, Kyler, about this time machine: I’m just curious … why did you choose the year 1985?” “I thought it would be fun to hang out with you as a kid,” he said. “Were you cool, Mom?” “Hey, I had a Barbie who could wink,” I said. “Need I say more?” Kyler smiled and shook his head. “Well, at least you’re cool now, Mom,” Kyler said. “Yeah,” Trevyn piped in. “Cuz she’s taking us to the cabin.”
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Cabin Porn: Inside
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Winter Outdoor Faucet Cover
