Do you remember the days when it would snow up in Truckee? We would
wake up and come down the metal stairs to the sound of dad snow blowing
the driveway. There was a fire glowing in the living room, warming the
downstairs. Mom was making homemade hot chocolate. After breakfast we
would argue over who owned what pair of gloves as we struggled into
layers upon layers of clothing. The next debate would be over whom get's
what sled. It was a short distance across the street. We would all find
ourselves at the top of a large cliff hidden with fresh snow. The
bravest would push off first. The hill took us past the trees and under
the playground, over the bump that separated properties, and if we were
lucky, a berm would have been made by the plow to stop us from sliding
into the street at the bottom. The journey was always quick and the
hikes back up always longer than we hoped. By the time we had completely
tired ourselves out, we would bust through the front door stripping off
our coats. our bodies were warm but our limbs were cold. Wet clothes
would be hung over the fire and schooling would begin.
Mom would
always find new and innovative ways to capture the attention of six
children as she taught us Math, Science, English and the Bible. The rest
of the afternoon was quiet as each of us found our forms of
entertainment. There was no TV, no computer. There were Beanie Babies,
Legos, toy soldier wars; American girl dolls in home made dollhouses,
blanket forts, C.S Lewis stories, and Tales of the Kingdom. The slamming
of the front door was always a highly anticipated occasion in our
house. We would always run out from our corners of the house screaming,
"Dad's Home!" Each one of us would smother him with hugs, and try to get
his attention as we bragged about our achievements of the day; Mom
would always get the last hug.
Dinner was the next big event of
the day. Everyone would hold hands and a song would begin. "We gather
together to ask the Lord's blessing..." Second helping went quickly,
sometimes resorting to sneaky forks snatching favorite foods from
foreign plates.
The dishes were always an ordeal in the Stamps
family household. On some nights music would play, as we would race the
clock to finish as quick as we could. Other times an Odyssey would play
and the pace was slower as we listened to Mister Whitaker teach the
children of Odyssey valuable lessons. Desert was rare but usually
consisted of home cookies or cake made from earlier in the day.
Dad
would then pull out his guitar. The same songs were played each night.
Bowls were used as drums, Mother would sing harmony, and everyone danced
around the living room to the light of the glowing fire and a few
reading lamps. We would all sing of the glory train, marching saints,
and God's amazing grace, played in a boom chunk chunk rhythm. Sometimes
the pile of cards would find it's way out of the closet, and the
large-scale game of Pounce would begin.
As the night came to a
close, mom would read us books of far off lands and secret kingdoms
before wishing us goodnight. As eyelids grew heavy I would lie in bed,
hoping for more snow to make the world a new place again, imagining the
possibilities the next day would hold before letting sleep take me away.
