My relationship with snow is not very healthy, or at least, not very mature. Snow brings out the fun in me, but also brings out a few traits that I hope rarely rear their ugly heads.
Like jealousy. Last weekend, when every other local neighborhood was graced with a blanket of white, mine was left out. For some reason, the snow skipped us, and I had a bad case of snow envy. Melodramatically, the song, "Femme Fatale," ran through my brain.
Then there's sloth. Snow, or even the threat of it, can be an excuse for sleeping in, day drinking, skipping work, staring out the window for hours, baking and eating massive carbs, hording, you name it. I do indulge in several of these, and I have a lot of company. Snow does that to people.
And there's my weak will in the face of tantalizing possibilities. I well know, from years of experience, that the forecast of snow here is often unfulfilled. It is the atmospheric equivalent of, "I'll call you." But I fall for that classic insincerity because I hope so much to see snow. When it finally does show up, I know it's best to ignore it, because it will soon go away, but I find myself intrigued and starving for fun because I've been waiting, and I end up going out with it.
Finally, my self-centered side makes an appearance. I'm not thinking much about those for whom snow is a major inconvenience. I'm thinking, please, please, please snow so I can go play. I love that on snow days, we suspend our typical responsibilities. We are more in the moment. They are so rare here, and in the middle of...
Oh...sorry...distracted. It's snowing! Big time! It's sticking. Hey, you don't mind if I abandon this post and go do fun things, do you? Are you sure you're OK with it? I...gotta go...
I'll call you.
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