It snowed here this week. The last time that happened was 1976. This may help you understand my interesting relationship with snow. Below is my (somewhat tongue and cheek) description of what snow is to me.
Snow, when first experienced, is surprising.
Snow fall is silent.
Fluffy white snow is not fluffy. It is cold and wet. That "snow angel" thing could cause pneumonia.
Snow is kind of a pain in the hiney.
In places where it snows a lot, people have to plug their cars in. Not new fangled electric cars. Just their boring old Dodge Dart or whatever. To keep it warm. Like an electric blanket. So it won't freeze and crack. The guy who invented this should be rich.
Snow buries things. You park your car, you go to bed, it snows, you wake up and where your car used to be there is now a heap of snow. You have to dig it out. With a shovel. But not until you dig a path from your front door to the street. And, I'm guessing it is cold out there. Good times.
Snow is scary.
I have cousins who lost everything in Hurricane Katrina, but returned to New Orleans. We suggested that they re-locate out here in California, but they declined. They didn't want to live anywhere there were earthquakes. Too dangerous. Huh? I have a similar feeling about snow.
Several years ago, in the mountains around here, (where I will only go in July and August), a man got lost hunting in the snow. He was found safe and sound, but he couldn't get his truck back until spring. Spring? Really?
A friend of mine who used to live in Missouri tells stories of driving, or rather sliding, the wrong way down the interstate into the path of a big rig because of snow and ice. People live like this? No thank you.
And these are just the stories without tragic endings. I am still haunted by several took-the-scenic-route-and-got-caught-in-a-freak-snow-storm stories. They did not end so well. I will leave it at that.
Snow is insidious.
Unlike other forces of nature, snow has some how passed itself off as beautiful and nostalgic. No one dreams of a Charred Christmas. Or sings, "Let it flood, let it flood, let it flood." Volcanic ash that stays on your nose and eye lashes? Not romantic. But, snow, obnoxious snow, has managed to charm it's way into our collective consciousness. Well...your collective consciousness. I'm not fooled.
You can keep the real stuff. I will be dreaming of a White Christmas, just like the ones I used to watch on TV. Bing Crosby, Rosemary Clooney, singing, dancing, fake snow as far as the eye can see. I have the DVD now, which is even better. White Christmas; no commercials.
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