How to have a White Christmas when everything outside the window is green

Do you know the artist Thomas Kinkade?  You’ve surely seen his landscapes of idyllic semi-rural settings, with cottages and lampposts and lots of shades of pink.   Lots of people find him too sentimental and precious for their taste.  He’s not really my cup of tea, exactly, although there is a little part of me that sort of wants to crawl inside his paintings on stressful days.

61aI4bQfYWL._SL500_AA240_Anyhow, a few years ago, Matthew’s godmother gave him a book for Christmas. It’s Silent Night, illustrated by Thomas Kinkade.  The text couldn’t be simpler — it’s just the lyrics to the carol — but when paired with the paintings, it’s really gorgeous.  Even if you wouldn’t hang a Kinkade painting on your wall, I’m guessing you’d love this book, because there is just something about the winter  landscapes he paints … scenes of quiet forests, of village streets at evening, of stone churches under a cover of snow … that is absolutely magical.

Maybe I love it so much because as a California girl, I have limited experience with snow.  Over the years, I’ve been fortunate enough to have two White Christmases (one in Germany, one in Colorado), and both made me as thrilled as a little child would be.   There’s just something about that beautiful hush that descends when snow falls;  it’s a kind of quiet unlike any other.  It’s totally magical.  And when I look at Matthew’s book, I get exactly that same thrill: the wonder of a muffled, glowing, gorgeous world.

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