Winter was the time when children went skating on a frozen lake or stream. The snow-blanketed banks rose in white grandeur, and the ice was hard and solid under the well-sharpened blade. Closer to home, frozen ponds lured the skaters, perhaps to an organ playing The Skaters' Waltz. There was the exhilarating feeling of gliding over the ice for hours, and those anxious moments afterwards, with the skates off, rubbing the frozen toes to bring back circulation.

The snow was easily packed into ice houses with myriad tunnels and entrances. Snow fights expended excess energy. Though top hats were more of a myth than reality, other targets presented themselves to a good throwing arm and the boy behind it. Many a potential major league pitcher maintained year-round training with snowballs replacing baseballs. And during the tramps in the snow, the ears turned red at the edges, and hands stung with the cold, even under blue wool mittens.

The local hills became meccas for those with skis or the nearly indestructible Flexible Flyer. The unsightly vacant lot with tin cans, weeds and bare earth was transformed—sometimes overnight—into a gorgeous white source of fun and frolic. Try to keep the sled in the tracks of the one in front . . . try to ski in the same marks and jump in the same places! But trying was not always succeeding, and by noon the hill resembled a mixed-up railroad yard, with tracks running in every direction.

For adults winter meant galoshes, mufflers and much stomping of feet and shaking of heavy coats when entering a warm building. It was walking gingerly on icy sidewalks and dodging passing vehicles that flicked mud and slush on passers-by. It was the welcome glow of streetlights piercing the organdy curtain of falling snow. To the less romantic, it was asking constantly the question of Shelley’s “Can spring be far behind?”

Of course, in this mechanized age, some of the beauty of winter remains. The snow still falls, and neon lights give it a new garishness. The hills and the ponds exist, but large cities have swallowed most. Sleds are still made, but good runs are getting harder to find. Once you could whiz under a car, but the new models stop even the smallest youngster at the bumper.

Today winter, the real winter, remains a nostalgic memory to most, and much of the romance is gone.

Some of the mellow moods have been captured, however, by Tutti Camarata and his orchestra in these selections for winter. Jing a Ling is the joyful music from Beaver Valley, to which the otters slid down nature’s snow chutes. Another composition captures the happy time of a young couple “walking in a Winter Wonderland.” Moonlight in Vermont seems to typify the fond memories of the old fashioned winter. And there the quiet evening mood caught In the Still of the Night.

The Skaters' Waltz is included for couples who have glided hand in hand over the frozen lakes and ponds. For other romantics: the ever-beautiful June in January. There are Snow Flower and the playful Let It Snow. Majestic Cascade recalls the snow-capped Sierras, Rockies or Appalachians, and Silver Tree stands as a monument to the woods wrapped in winter.