Watching traffic from our picture window on Christmas day, a tepid breeze trying to tease the mercilous sun, I asked my mother, “What is snow.”

“Where did that come from,” she chuckled.

“Daddy and I saw White Christmas on TV.”

Mom led me to the fridge, opened the freezer section, and scraped at the ice that had formed on the sides.  “Honey, this is as close as you’re gonna get to snow in Miami.”

At 8 years old, I dreamed of traveling up north, and in the summer, we drove to a motel in the mountains of North Carolina.  The romantic version of that non-wondrous tale is…

…she fell in love with the mountains and became another Heidi.

More on that later.

Truth is, the only thing I remember about our 4 day vacation was feeling the wrath of my mother when I ordered fried shrimp and my dad said, “It’s okay.  We’re on vacation.”

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