Snow...I've lived in places that get a lot of it. Like Ashton, Idaho--where about four feet on the level was an average winter. Michigan, where lake effect could dump a couple of feet in a couple of hours. And I will admit I never liked driving in it, especially after I slid off Montana Highway 37 one day between Rexford and Eureka.
But now, I find myself wishing for it. No, I'm not a skier, though there has been some cross-country skiing in the past. Maybe it's because I'm retired...
I have two theories on this. My current one is I'm reverting to my childhood. I grew up in southern Arkansas (until I turned 11). I never say snow until I was past five years old. It was amazing! I remember running out to touch and being surprised that it was cold. Maybe I was expecting that cottony stuff they put in the store windows to look like snow.
It never snowed at Christmas in Arkansas, but my two younger brothers and I always secretly wished for it. Dad helped this along by playing his old 78-rpm Bing Crosby record every Christmas Eve. It was "White Christmas" of course!
When we moved to northern Illinois in 1963, I had my first actual white Christmas, and the house we were renting even had some old sleds in the garage. What fun we had! I guess this is my current state of mind--looking for ways to find joy in life, as the years fly past me. Being back in Montana and seeing the snow-covered mountains is wonderful. And I am thankful for the old memories, too.
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