This is a scene that was NOT taken out my living room window, but I wish it had been. I'd love to be standing on this side of that window, sipping a cup of hot coffee, dressed in my warmest sweatshirt and fuzzy slippers. Truth is, it rarely snows around here. We haven't seen snow in years--except for those brief flurries that do nothing more than get the children all excited, thinking they'll get a day off from school.
I love winter. I'm not sure it's my favorite season because I really, really like autumn too. But I truly love winter, and I truly love snow. I like being able to snuggle up on the sofa with a hot drink and a good book, pull the afghan up to my neck, and spend a cozy afternoon there. I like the look of the bare woods, the skeletal trees, the grey skies that hold a promise of snow, even if that promise is seldom fulfilled. And on the few occasions when the snow actually does come, I stand at the window and watch it fall. I love the silence of a snowfall. It's like you should hear it, but you don't. It's so soft, so gentle. Not like rain, which pelts down like the percussion section in a big band, not caring who hears the racket it makes. Snow doesn't want to wake anyone.
It seems that most people in Alabama don't share my love of snow. People go crazy around here when the evening weather forecaster pronounces the "S" word. Never mind that those predictions of snow rarely come true; just the mere mention of the word sends people into paroxysms of grocery shopping. There are riots in the super markets over milk, bread, and toilet paper. It beats all. One year, it seemed we had snow predictions every week or so--no snow, just the predictions. My aunt Edna bought so much bread that she had every food freezer in the family full of the stuff. I think Uncle Jim pulled out a loaf just last week that was dated 1981.
But I love snow, and every year I pray that this is the year we get the big one. The last big one came in 1993. I didn't exactly miss it, I just wasn't here when it happened. Vann and I had gone to the mountains. But that March, the snow blanketed the entire eastern half of the country, or most of it. We spent the blizzard of '93 at Blackberry Farms Inn in the Tennessee Smokies. It was wonderful. We were snowed in for several days with no electricity, melting snow to flush the toilets, and surviving on gourmet meals russled up by the inn's chefs (who, fortunately, cook with gas). While family members back home were huddled together under stacks of blankets, eating pork and beans out of a can, we had crepes with chocolate sauce for breakfast, were warmed by burning logs in huge fireplaces, and brushed our teeth with Perrier. It's an experience we'll never forget.
That was 14 years ago. 'Bout time for another one, I say. Better go buy up some bread, Aunt Edna. I feel the snow clouds gathering on the horizon.
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On 09/07/2007, Nicole said ...
People here in California go crazy at the idea of snow on the ground too. One year we got just a light dusting and there were so many traffic accidents it wasn't even funny. My sister in Wisconsin thought we were all such babies!
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