I am not a winter person. I grew up in Florida, so my idea of cold is when the mercury dips below 70 degrees on the thermometer. So of course I thought it would be brilliant for me to pick up sticks and move to the Northeast, where things like snow and ice and sleet – sleet! – exist. No. Wrong. Bad Penelope.

You see, there are some people up here who think that strapping knives onto one’s feet and journeying out onto frozen water is fun. 

The poem “Twas the Night Before Christmas” envisions a peaceful night in which “The children were nestled all snug in their beds; while visions of sugar plums danced in their heads.” I can guarantee you that visions of sugar plums were never dancing in my head on Christmas Eve. It was always about ponies and horses. The Holy Grail of Christmas presents! A horse! A pony! The fulfillment of so many dreams and wishes. Sometimes I peruse YouTube to see the latest videos of the lucky ones who received a horse for Christmas.