The outhouse was bright red with a white roof. Open doors revealed a spacious two-seater. Half moons were cut in the two narrow sides.

It sat on the outskirts of town far from the village streets where brightly lit houses and a small church crowded for attention along the dirt lanes. The path to the outhouse wound through the fields behind the lone farmhouse to the north of town.

Snow glistened under the starry sky where cattle grazed in the fields, pigs rooted in their sties and ducks and geese waddled by the open water of an ice-rimmed pond. The evergreens were boldly decorated with their snowy patches while the oaks and elms shivered under their load of snow. Above this peaceful scene hovered eight ceramic reindeer pulling a white and gold sleigh with a jolly red-clad Santa sharing his seat with a bag of presents.

This scene, which magically appeared overnight, topped the mantel piece in the dining room. As I grew older, I helped Dad create the magic, always reserving the placement of the outhouse for myself.