It’s hard to choose my favorite Christmas movie. Each time I try to pick one, I’m afraid I’ll shoot my eye out.

There are, of course, obligatory holiday movies which bring to mind one’s parents and grandparents. A period in post-war national history which featured Buicks Roadmasters, Hula Hoops, and pineapple upside down cakes made almost completely of mayonnaise. This era features movies such as “Miracle on 34th Street” (1947); “A Christmas Carol” (1951); and “White Christmas” (1954).

Those are all great movies. But what about the spiritually inspired cinematic manifesto of the Great American Dysfunctional Family, “National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation” (1989)? A film which, over the years, has brought me more joy than nearly anything including most major religions.

Somewhere at the top of my movie list sits “A Christmas Story” (1983). Perhaps because, not unlike the movie’s protagonist, Ralphie, I too grew up among folks who believed no Christmas gift better embodied the True Meaning of Christ’s Birth than an American-made firearm.

There are also many

popular holiday movies which, in my opinion, suck. Such as “Home Alone” (1990). If that kid had been in my house, my mother would’ve wore his butt out. And “Edward Scissorhands” (1990), directed by Tim Burton, the man who ruined “Dumbo” (2019). Or “Gremlins” (1984), a Christmas movie about a horde of malicious demons invading a small town and murdering the townspeople.

Do what?

No holiday movie discussion, however, is complete without mentioning the dozens of stop-motion animated TV movies by Rankin and Bass. These movies are pure childhood. “Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer” (1964); “Rudolph’s Shiny New Year” (1976); “Rudolph and Frosty’s Christmas” (1979); “Rudolph Develops a Nasal Polyp”, etc.

I’m also a big fan of the multiple retellings of Dickens’ Ebenezer Scrooge. For my money, George C. Scott delivers a prize-winning performance in 1984’s “A Christmas Carol.”

Still, it is the Dickensian musical “Scrooge” (1970), starring Albert Finney, that takes…

It’s okay if you don’t believe her. Nobody is asking you to believe. But Sandra believes.

It all started when Sandra was walking home from work. It was 1969. “Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid” was still in theaters. We landed on the moon. The top-40 hits du jour belonged to the Stones and Neil Diamond.

The young woman had just gotten off work. She was on her way to the bus stop. It was icy, the sidewalk was a bit treacherous. She was in a hurry to get home; she wasn’t watching where she was walking..

Sandra misstepped. She fell. But her fall was in the deadliest direction possible. She fell off the curb, directly into the street of oncoming traffic.

She could see it all happening in slow motion. She tumbled into the roadway. The grill of an oncoming vehicle came flying up at her. She could hear the tires, up close and personal, crunching in the snow.

What she did not see, however, was the woman who saved her. At least, not

at first. The woman appeared out of nowhere it seemed.

The woman was very tall. She was strong. Quite strong. And she was wearing overalls.

The stranger rescued her. The speeding vehicle missed Sandra by a few inches. And the woman moved her body to a safe place.

“San,” the strange woman said, using Sandra’s family nickname. “Can you hear me? I need you to keep your eyes open, sweetie.”

The woman kept using this name, until Sandra opened her eyes. Which she eventually did. Then—just like that—Miss Overalls seemingly disappeared.

Not a single witness saw the woman. Maybe Sandra imagined her. After all, this was a traumatic experience, who wouldn’t start seeing things? Moreover, as I say, this was 1969, who WASN’T hallucinating?

She sustained a broken femur. In her hospital bed, she was in agony. The pain meds made her loopy. But she…

The snow in West Virginia clings to the world like shaving cream, covering every surface, every automotive hood, every interstate sign.

In the distance, the blue Appalachians stand watch over the Mountain State, like mother hens, guarding their young. And I’m staring out a plate glass window in my hotel lobby, just watching it all.

As I watch snow fall like white noise on a TV screen, the beauty puts me into a mild trance. I almost forget that I’m in a hotel lobby.

A young man enters the lobby, using a motorized wheelchair. He is college age. Wearing a West Virginia Mountaineers T-shirt.

An older woman is walking behind him. The woman follows the kid’s chair to the window, so they can look better at the snow.

“Look at ALL that snow,” says the older woman as though it is the first time it has ever snowed in West Virginia.

The kid gazes out the window, and with labored speech he says, “Oh, wow!”

Everyone in the lobby is lapsed in a sort of quiet reverie.

Nobody is talking. There is a TV playing 24-hour news on low volume, but nobody is watching it. Everyone is just looking at this boy, who is so excited about snow, it’s making us excited, too.

“Supposed to get five inches tonight,” mutters a man to the kid.

He’s a businessman, working on a laptop. But he is not paying attention to the digital screen anymore. He has caught the kid’s wonder.

“Five inches,” repeats the boy. “Omigosh.”

“Could get more than five inches,” offers one a hotel employee, an older woman cleaning tables. “I hear we could get six or seven tonight.”

The kid pilots his electric chair even closer to the window. His knees are almost touching the glass.

And even though snow is a common occurrence in this part of Appalachia this time of year, even though it snows every…