I’m not much for holiday decorating, but I do have a soft spot for a three-foot tall Frosty the Snowman.
Years ago, after giving a talk in Maine, I began the drive home. It started to snow. Hard.
Soon, I could barely make out the car in front of me, let alone the road. When I saw the neon outlines of a hotel sign, I pulled over.
Luckily, they had a room. The Holiday Inn near Skowhegan actually had lots of room.
It was the week after Thanksgiving, and nobody much was traveling. I settled in, and figured I spend the rest of the night channel-surfing.
But I was hungry, and thought I had seen a bar off the lobby. Maybe I could snag some peanuts.
Sure enough, there was a bar tucked into a corner, and a bartender who waved me in.
“Come join us,” he said.
I pulled up a stool next to a few others. I didn’t think it was the kind of bar that served food, but I could smell something cooking, and it smelled wonderful.
Turns out, as the storm began, the bartender had rushed home, and grabbed his family’s leftover turkey. He was making soup on some rigged-up burner and, before I knew it, there was a steaming bowl of turkey soup in front of me. I hadn’t even asked.
The rest of the evening was just as welcoming. Friendly conversation with people I’d never see again. Warmth. Kindness. A light in the storm.
The next day, with the blizzard out in the Atlantic, I headed home. But something made me stop at a KMart outside of town. I didn’t need anything. I just wandered the aisles. When I saw a display of retro reindeer and snowmen, I stopped. Frosty ended up in my back seat.
Parts of New England got our first good thump of snow recently, which inspired my family to start holiday decorating.
In truth, I didn’t do much. I never do. But I did manage one bit of cheer. Once the flakes began to fly, I plugged in Frosty. A light in the storm, and all.
Martha Ackmann is a journalist and author who lives in Leverett, Massachusetts. Her most recent book is "These Fevered Days: Ten Pivotal Moments in the Making of Emily Dickinson."
