Brrrrrr!

Growing up in Longview, the sight of snow fall was cause for celebration. "Hey guys, it's snowing! It's snowing!"  Us children gathered around the window, our teacher joining us for a moment before instructing us to take our seats.

Snow represented something fun, something exotic. It meant the possibility of school being cancelled or delayed. It meant snowball fights and building civilizations of snow people. It meant coming back inside, ice melt dripping down the backs of our necks, and sipping a big mug of hot cocoa piled high with mini marshmallows—even if the mix had those little dehydrated marshmallows inside.

Now that I'm older and live in a place where snow is as common as the lentil fields, it has lost its magic. Responsibilities have made snow feel like a nuisance. When Siri tells me about the snow falling in her cold, sterile voice as I roll out of bed at 4:30 in the morning, I groan instead of cheer. It means I have to warm up my vehicle, and brush off its exterior. It means having to wear boots instead of being able to just slip on my Vans. It means having to shovel and salt the walkways when I get to work.