Monday, March 19, 2012

There is snow on them there hills.

Growing up in Florida, I was always curious about snow.  Intellectually, I understood it, but experientially I did not.  I went to the Northeast in part because of that curiosity.

Four years of Massachusetts winters cured me.  I left Wellesley knowing that I could live a full and happy life without ever seeing snow again.

I have not been able to avoid it: there was snow occasionally in Virginia when I lived there, and my family likes going to Truckee to go snow tubing. Needless to say, I am not a proponent of such trips, but generally act like a good sport.

However, snow on the hills is ideal.  It sits there, white and majestic, and I don't have to go out in it.  My feet don't freeze, and I never have to see the inevitable slush.

We have had a cold snap for the past few days.* Mount Hamilton's peak is covered in snow. It happens a couple of times every winter.  I love it.  It fulfills my aesthetic yearnings without making my earring wires cold. That is just enough snow.

Okay, the weather can warm up now.

*Cold snap for the South Bay Area: daytime temperatures in the low fifties.  The Not-So-Little Drummer Boy is home from Massachusetts for spring break, and he laughs at us.

1 comment:

  1. Four winters in grad school of shoveling snow off my car when I was already late to work... not to mention de-icing the door lock and wiper blades and windows... That's what cured me of winder wonder. I grew up with the stuff, of course, but when you're the age where you're sledding in it and making snow angels and and tunneling in it to make snow forts, well, you don't care so much about the cold and wet then. Now...