I know my Floridian-born-and-raised husband would certainly disagree with me on this, but there are few things that I love the way I love sitting in the house with all the blinds open and all the lights off in the late afternoon of a late November day waiting for it to start snowing outside. I can smell the snow; it's right around the corner and I'm so excited for it.
I won't love it so much when I have to shovel it or drive in it or watch said husband come home and start madly searching for jobs in Florida while he mumbles angrily under (or over, occasionally) his breath about "the enemy from above."
But waiting inside, curled up with a blanket/good book/cup of hot chocolate/two snuggly kittens/the cutest toddler ever?
That's my favorite kind of snow, and I'm kind of psyched for it.
Sorry, hon. If it helps, I promise not to sing any Dean Martin songs encouraging that particular form of precipitation. Or at least not while you're in the room. Or at least not too loudly.
Yes, that's it.
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I came across this poem, "The Spot" by Holly Day, this afternoon. (Scroll
down to the bottom of the page; it won't let me link to the individual
poem.)
Ye...
12 years ago
4 comments:
Sigh. I actually miss that too. In Oregon it's like a Stephanie Meyer novel--lots of buildup and talk and worry about snow...then no climactic snow event.
I love the smell of snow in the air, too. But my absolute favorite is waking up to a completely new world of snow that has stealthily fallen overnight.
I'm with you! Love the snow! My hubby is from Cache Valley, so you'd think Salt Lake snow would be nothing in comparison, but he still complains and vows he is retiring to San Diego. Still, I put on the Christmas tunes, bake some cookies, and all is well!
Oh, you captured that so beautifully. I completely agree, and my New Orleans born husband is completely in sync with your husband.
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