Sunday, December 16, 2012

Riding the Rickety Tracks

My heavy heart after the awfulness in Connecticut has immobilized my typing fingers the past few days.  I'm back now.  With gratitude for the two girls I can wrap my arms around. 

We visited Santa, the Santa who lives in the foothills above our town, and owns his own steam engine and tracks through the woods.  Park your car in the horse corral, hold your breath while you walk by Santa's smoking elves, donate people food and pet food to the nice lady by the horse trailer, wipe the mud off your boots before you go into the workshop, grab an oreo and warm up by the barrel stove while you wait for the train, eavesdrop on Santa while he shoots the shit about the dreary weather with his neighbors. 

Try not to remember last year when the train fell off the tracks and you had to climb out the back and walk back to the workshop on the tracks.  Enjoy the ride, your daughter's warm weight in your lap, your husband's shoulder next to yours, the smell of steam billowing into cold air. 

A magical place, full of generosity, history and a piece of our own forged family tradition, rickety tracks and all.

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