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.