My first experience with snow was a pretty lame one; we lived on the southern Oregon coast and it didn't really ever snow there. One year it got cold enough for a few minutes to turn the lightly falling rain into snow. We (a number of aunts, uncles and cousins) were all at my grandma and grandpa's house when the snow started. I don't remember if I was excited or not but I do remember the older cousins being excited. We bundled up and and walked to the nearby elementary school to play on their playground. By time we walked the short distance to the school the accumulation was at its peak - some where right around nil. The best place to see the snow was on the black mat that the swing set was mounted on. You could see a bit of white stuff on top of it. There wasn't enough to even make a snowball. Like I said, it was lame.
Five or so years later is when I really got to experience snow. My family moved to Vancouver (in Washington, the state - a subject for another post: Why do people who live east of Idaho call Washington DC plain old Washington but tack on 'state' for Washington as in Washington State - why not call the state of Washington just 'Washington', tack on DC for Washington DC. We don't say New Jersey State, or North Dakota State or Rhode Island State).
Back to the snow...
It could get quite cold in Vancouver in the winter. My first winter there was bitterly cold; the transition from the mild climate of the coast to Vancouver with its harsh east wind that sucked all of the moisture out of the air was quite a shock to my system; my hands would get so dry they would crack and bleed. I seem to remember school being closed on one or two occasions because it was so cold, I think they didn't want kids standing outside waiting for the bus. The snow when it was that cold was no good, dry flaky stuff that wouldn't stick together. Fortunately we didn't get much snow like that. We usually had one or two good snowfalls a year, and by good I mean a few inches to blanket everything.
Those snowfalls were, at the expense of sounding corny, magical. If the snow started in the late afternoon or evening I would constantly peer out the window to gauge how much was falling, how much was sticking and if it added up to a lot falling + a lot sticking I would hope and pray that school would be cancelled the next day. Sometimes when it was obvious there would be no school the next day Mom and Dad would let us go outside to play in the new fallen snow. The memories of playing in the snow in the still of the night are some of my most treasured.
As the snow fell from the dark sky it created a white ethereal playground. My neighborhood was transformed into a beautiful dream scape as gray streets disappeared under a fluffy blanket of snow, houses turned into gingerbread houses with frosted roofs and puffing chimneys and my favorite - the evergreen tree boughs hung low, draped with snow.
Everything is quieter in the snow. Cars aren't zipping up and down and what sound is being created is dampened by the blanket of snow. All you could hear was our feet crunching in the snow and our whispers to each other - yelling would have to wait for daylight. Mom always had a big pot of hot cocoa on the stove for us when we came inside to thaw.
As the years went on I still loved the snow. On snow days I babysat the neighbor girl, Rachel Pulver (who is now 25 or 26). Her house was a cool ranch house, it looked small from the outside but it was deceptively large. My favorite part about her house were the floor to ceiling windows. I would lay on my back on the floor near a heat vent and stare at the sky, watching the snow fall up.
Of course as I got older snow days became my little romantic escapes. I always day dreamed of the cute boy I had a crush on that week taking me on a walk through the snow and kissing me. Alas, that never happened. I suppose I could beg Ryan take me on a walk when it snows but somehow I don't think carrying Gavin and wrestling with the dog would be all that romantic. Fun, yes. Romantic, no. Some dreams born in the eigth grade just never die.
Two or three inches of snow fell on Saturday night. My first thought was, "I hope it doesn't stick." I was really looking forward to going to church but the snow put the kibosh on those plans. My second thought was, "I hope our pipes don't freeze." My third thought was, "I hope the homeless don't freeze." Somewhere after 5 but before 10 thoughts was, "Ooh, it's so pretty."
Since Gavin had a cold we didn't take him out in the snow - we've been laying low. We took him out in the snow last year, bundled up in his car seat. Since he wasn't really aware of his own hands it wasn't that exciting for him, or for us. The year before that was the last year I recall getting excited about the snow. I was excited for one reason: Snow Day.
I lived on a hill and worked on a hill and between work and home was a very large valley. There was no way to get to work without going down some nasty hills - heck, some of these hills are problematic when it is just raining. I got a couple of days off work because my street was a sheet of ice. I loved every icy minute that I had off work.
More snow is coming which in years past would have put me over the moon at the mere thought of having a true white Christmas I must face the fact that while I am young (although according to my nephew Matthew I'm old), almost 32, I'm not as young as I once was - I want a safe green Christmas. The days of giddiness over snow are over. I just hope that I will be able to share in Gavin's joy when he is older and is doing the please-let-school-be-cancelled-dance as he listens to the radio DJ's rattling off the list of school closures.
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