There's Snow, And Then There's Snow

Last week, I shared with you my January conundrum. Doing or being? Productivity or puzzles? This week, I share another January disparity. Here is the story of two snowfalls.

A couple of weeks ago, we awoke to magic. The snow outside my window was captivating and amazing. I was catapulted back to yesteryear when my kids were small. There was no greater excitement than turning on the radio to WHIO in the wee hours of the morning to hear the alphabetical list of school closings. With baited breath, I’d listen for the announcement of Centerville City Schools, and then wait for my kids to awaken on their own. Perplexed as to why I wasn’t nagging them to get downstairs for breakfast, all they had to do was look outside the window, then delight would overtake them. Just like that, we became immersed in the gift of a snow day. Snow days meant bundling up and snow balls and hot chocolate and grilled cheese sandwiches with tomato soup for lunch. Sometimes, it even meant an extra day to study for that dreaded history test.

Magical snowfall quiets. Have you ever stood outside while the dance of snowflakes fall gracefully to the ground?  Sounds that normally drown awareness are stilled, and the temptation to feel the tickles of chill that fall upon your cheeks is mesmerizing. Walking amidst flurried enchantment captivates. Strolling along an undisturbed sidewalk as the powdered snow blows in the breeze is enchanting. I love watching neighbors helping neighbors with shovels and snow plows. Leave it to the gift of snow to make us all pay attention a little bit more to the needs of one another. Such snowfalls offer a multitude of gifts.

Fast forward a few days later. After feeling like I could author a book of wintertime sonnets, it snowed again. This time, I was transformed into a grumbling grouch. The magic of a few days prior had been replaced by wet slush pretending to be snow. Shoveling felt like a Herculean effort. Hesitant to be deterred by any weather element, I laced up my snow boots and wrapped my scarf and set out for my daily walk. After clearing the driveway of ton-like wetness, embarking on a walk despite the mush felt good. The convenience-store-worthy-3-inch icy slush blanketed the sidewalks, so I made my path in the street along the tire tracks of those cars who blazed the trail before me. But then the oncoming cars must not have realized the power of their spinning wheels; each one left a wake of flying slush that landed, that’s right, all over me. There was no tickle of chill; rather it felt like an arctic upsurge. Grumpiness threatened to win the day, but then I remembered January’s lesson of embracing two directions of thinking; or in this case, two experiences of snow.

January reminded me that sonnets and slush coexist whether we like it or not. Bliss is complimented by disarray. Both are necessary to tell the whole story.

So, here we are welcoming February. I promise not to delve too much into the meaning of every month (except for June, because I love summer). Instead, I promise to enjoy. Valentine’s Day is just 12 days away, so it’s time to start thinking about showering those we love and indulging a bit in chocolate. And perhaps we’ll even be gifted with the tiniest sprout of crocus flowers indicating Spring is on her way, eventually. Thank you January, 2023. Your message of acceptance amidst slush was heard loud and clear. Onward we go. 2023 is just getting started.