Mark Lawrence writes in his article, Why We Need Stories. “A story is more than a collection of words arranged into a structure; they are an act of creation that speaks to us across the years and miles between author and reader. A well written story can force us to re-evaluate our morals, our truths, and our future. But they do more, stories bring us together in a shared experience in the same way that great music and great art can do.

Starting in May this blog will be bringing you stories, reviews of stories, pieces of stories, tips on storytelling and all else dealing with stories. Sometimes I’ll upload a photo and ask you, the reader of the blog, to tell a story about it. Sometimes I’ll include a story someone sends to me. Please share your stories.

My friend Sasha Wolfe has written her second book, Too Cold for Alligators. It’s the story of her trip, alone, to Florida, driving all the way and stopping at spots that look interesting. To read her book is to be sitting in her truck next to her. Her descriptions of the highway, the landscape, the places she stops and even the motels she stays in are so immediate and personal that you share the experience as if you were there. Here’s a sample from her drive along the Skyline Drive in the Shenandoah Valley:

“The entrance fee at the little guard shack is $10.  It’s noon, the odometer reads 13,766.2, and it is 21 degrees. The park ranger with his southern drawl tells me that if I were to do any hiking, I’ll be alone on the trails. That won’t be a problem. In this cold it’s highly unlikely any hiking will happen. He says it would be better for photographs if the sun wasn’t shining. I’ll take what I can get.

“The road narrows and winds up the mountain and as I drive along I think, what sun? It’s quite cloudy. Trees and landscape on both sides of the road are brown, gray and colorless with dried yellow grasses. This is just like late winter back home after the snow melts. …..A flash of bright blue against the dull colors catches my eye as a flock of bluebirds flies from the ground to the trees. Poor little things, bet they didn’t expect to be this cold.”

Visit Sasha at  www.sashawolfe.net

If you could see our village buried in snow, spring would not be your first thought: skis prehaps, or hot cocoa or a fire in the fireplace, but spring?

Just as the maple sap will start running in about 14 days, I feel the sap running in my own body. It’s a feeling of beginning again. Planting bulbs, starting a new book, cleaning out the cupboards, buying new clothes.

You might say, “that’s New Years stuff” but this is different. New Years resolutions fix what you have let go – your weight gain, your messy garage, your bulging closet. This feeling is more an awakening from a long sleep – a desire to grow, learn and blossom.

You would think that in my eighties I couldn’t “blossom” anymore. But you’d be wrong. Just like our old, gnarled lilac tree in the front yard will blossom in a few weeks and our ancient apple tree that has fed the deer all winter with fallen, frozen fruit, will blossom again soon, so will I.

So, as the bear stirs in her den, and the buds start forming on the magnolia in our neighbors yard, even in the snow, get ready for that feeling of renewal and hope as the days get longer and the maple sap starts running. Life is an incredible gift.

It’s snowing, blowing and sometimes raining outside. Our little tree is up and glowing with lights and tiny ornaments which lead to memories. A cloth angel moves in the warm air, a memory of a small neightbor girl who made it several years ago. She is almost grown up now. An origami reindeer brings memories of my granddaughter. a college student now.

Christmas, more than any other holiday, connects us to the past, special people who are no longer with us, music that takes you to other days, past smells of Christmas cookies in the oven and the excitement of arriving relatives and friends when you were a child.

I remember shopping with my father each year to find a special present for my mother, a beautiful red purse from England one year, a plaid raincoat another year. I remember the excitement of seeing my cousins arrive to stay with me through school vacation.

What are your Christmas memories?