Blessings

Our cabin had a name: Ophelie. Her sister cabins were Angelique, Sidonie, Virginie, Delphine, Véronique and Camille.

Ophelie had a fireplace, a Jacuzzi, and a vast uncluttered view of the snow-covered lake and the hills beyond. Out there, cross-country skiing, snowshoeing and skating were to be had. But our pleasures were mostly of the indoor variety: lounging in the hot tub, reading, making love on the soft rug in front of the fire.

My husband and I slumbered like babies in Ophelie's arms that first night. In the morning, we roused ourselves to crunch through the snow, arm in arm, to the lodge for a breakfast of fresh-baked croissants, homemade jams and coffee; followed by courses of eggs, sausages, toast, waffles, you-name-it, and more coffee.

In the movie White Christmas (1954), Dean Jagger’s character is about to lose his beautiful country inn because there's no snow to attract guests.

Our lodge was every bit as lovely and bucolic as that fictional inn, but there were at least a dozen guests occupying the seven cabins, also plenty of snow. And Dean Jagger was a cat.

That wasn’t his real name. But this place was such a cast back to the '50s and the spirit of that movie, that I kept expecting Bing Crosby to show up.

An assortment of liquor bottles glittered on a mid-century sideboard and, as we sat down for breakfast, I remarked to our server that there should also be seltzer bottles there.

"And ashtrays and Zippo lighters," she added, obviously possessing full knowledge of the decade's gadgets and decor.

There were two big stone fireplaces in the lodge, one in the dining room and one in the lounge, where fires danced and crackled all day long.

On our second night I couldn't sleep so I got up. I looked out a little window at the snowy magic and moonlit icicles. As I marvelled at the silver and the silence I saw a lone figure leave Angelique.

I watched as this winter wanderer walked to the dark lodge then went in. Shortly after, the lounge windows revealed a gentle amber glow, as if someone had lit a hearth fire. I knew that the staff had their own separate quarters out back of the lodge and that all the guests were staying in the cabins. So who was this person?

I went back to bed and fell into turbulent dreams. Perhaps they were influenced by the shadowy figure but more likely it had to do with the existential dread that'd burrowed into my soul during the pandemic to apparently make its forever home right there.

The next day I sat yawning by Dean Jagger on one of the many plush sofas in the lounge. A couple sat at a corner table, contemplating chess moves, while three greying sisters played Scrabble at a coffee table, amiably quibbling about this word or that.

I got up and went to a window. Ouside I saw my intrepid husband tromping through the snow with his camera. He clicked and clicked again, cajoling a worthy shot from the white-on-white world.

Watching him, the dread that'd kept me awake returned.

He and I had become closer during lockdowns, doing more things together, like potting plants and making bread. Since we couldn't travel, whole evenings got devoted to sipping wine and reliving trips: in a flash, we were walking down a cobblestone street in Paris or lounging on a beach in Honduras, running our fingers through warm sand.

These recounted adventures warmed us. But always, looming like a dark cloud, was the threat that either of us or any of our children, now living on their own, could vanish in a heartbeat, or could be thrown into a long slow torturous end to all heartbeats.

The taller man of the chess couple tipped his king over. His gloating husband got up to refill their coffee cups. I refilled my own cup then sank into an overstuffed chair.

My eyes took in the room, from the wooden beams traversing the high ceiling to the orange-and-rust rugs underfoot. A gleaming grand piano stood in a many-windowed corner.

The lodge was like the mother of all the little cabins but it did not have a name. So I dubbed her Rosemary Clooney; not French like her children but suitable: lovely and from another time - and also a star of White Christmas.

On our last night there, after much ceiling-staring in our cabin, I got out of bed to look out the little window. Once again, I saw the bundled figure emerge from Angelique. Soon, the golden light flickered in Rosemary Clooney's windows.

My husband slept soundly as I put on my boots and coat. Approaching the lodge I heard the velvety sound of a piano. I entered quietly and, by the glow of the hearth fire, I saw a man at the piano.

He wore a casual suit and a grey fedora. A thin line of smoke rose from the pipe in his mouth. He stopped playing to set his pipe down, then continued to coax rich sounds from the ivories. If he saw me he didn't let on. I sat down on a sofa and put my hand on the purring ball of fur beside me.

When the mysterious musician began to sing, he sounded a lot like Bing Crosby. In fact, from where I sat, he looked a lot like Bing. He crooned: “When I'm worried and I cannot sleep, I count my blessings instead of sheep.”

It was a corny tune but oh-so-soothing and he did it justice. I sat entranced for what seemed like a long time. And then, Dean Jagger got up and slinked away, suggesting I should also hit the road.

As I closed the door behind me, the warbler sang: "And I fall asleep counting my blessings.”

The song set me to thinking of - if not counting - everything I was grateful for: snow sparkling in moonlight, the sting of the cool air on my cheeks, the nostalgic scent of burning wood.

As I made my way, more blessings came to mind: sunlight on ocean waves, Van Gogh's irises, babies, orange blossom honey, helping hands. Nearing Ophelie, I thought of hyacinths and hats, aquamarines and lambs.

I undressed and climbed into bed with visions of Picasso's shades of blue and the scent of lavender in my brain. I felt deep gladness for this getaway cabin and for my kids and my friends and my whole family, both those currently in my life and those who'd crossed over.

I was thankful for the man at the piano. And the man beside me. And I slept peacefully all night long.

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