Still Waiting for Our First Snow

Each morning, I sit in front of our Christmas tree, listening to Christmas carols, and I wonder what the weather has in store for us. Checking the Weather Channel forecast, there is a slight possibility of snow mixed with rain in a few more days, but the only day that is calling for snow is two whole weeks away. It's all so disappointing; you see, I just love snow.

I love watching snow fall from the sky. I love catching individual snowflakes and examining their delicate patterns. I love the way the land looks when it's tucked under a winter blanket of white. I love how silent the earth is covered in snowflakes. I love walking in fresh snow, especially if mine are the first footprints to leave their mark. I love downhill skiing; not that I'm allowed to go any more. 

A day on the slopes with Bridger and Tanner. I miss those days. And those boys.

I love cross-country skiing, even though I haven't been in decades. I love sledding. Yes, last year my inner child and I bought a sled, and went sledding with all the local kids. I love taking pictures of frost and snow.

When I was a child, snow days were miserable experiences involving cheap plastic boots and thin plastic-coated gloves. Did that stop us from playing outside? Heavens, no. Mom gave us bread bags to wear over our socks to give our feet a fighting chance of staying dry. We knew there would be hot chocolate and a crackling fire in the wood stove for us once we were done playing, so we went sleigh riding, and built snowmen and snow sculptures. We made ice cream from snow, which didn't taste anything like ice cream, but it was fun to try. Snow makes me feel like a kid again.

Circa 1977. We had THREE WEEKS of snow days. (Ice was to blame, but still, SNOW DAYS!)

My kids in Utah have been sending me pictures of their snow days. Bridger sent a beautiful picture of the fields of Monroe during a snowfall. I'm so jealous when Sierra sends me darling pictures like this:

When I pull into our garage, I can't help noticing my bright blue sled waiting for me on the wall. When I hang up my lightweight olive jacket in the hall closet, I look longingly at the tub of hats and gloves. I miss wearing my slouchy hat. I wore it prematurely when Chuck and I went walking over the Thanksgiving holiday, and when I got overheated, I had to carry it in my hands the rest of the way home. 

Friends in Wisconsin and in cities farther north than Saint Charles have already reported their first snowfall. Last night, just to make sure, I checked with Chuck.

"We haven't had any snow yet, right?"

"Well, you thought you saw a snowflake once, but I don't think that really counts."

See, I miss snow so much it makes me delirious; my mind plays tricks on me.

I can't help it; I'm so jealous of everyone who has already had snow. Our turn is coming; I know that. I just need to be patient. 

If you love snow, too, or are would enjoy reading propaganda from a charter member of the snow lovers' club, you might enjoy reading these:

A Kid at Heart

Please Don't Hate Me for Not Hating Snow

Nothing Like a Snow Day

Too Big for My (Ski) Britches

The Novice Skier; That Would Be Me!

It's All Fun and Games...

Zen Skiing

Learning to Ski as a Fifty-something

Overthinking Skiing

No More Skiing?

Goodbye, Skis