Right now it is snowing, and promises to do so all day and into the night. This turn of events fills me with dread rather than glee. Glee regarding snow rarely surfaces anymore, which is sad since the weather has few rivals in terms of beauty and magic. Heat is a bastard, wind is a terror and rain is a total drag, but snow can be lovely under the right circumstances.
Back when I lived in Washington, D.C., even the hint of snow ushered in a joyous and raucous mood change among the general population, calling for steaming mugs of hot chocolate, or even better, Irish coffee with generous shots of Jameson's topped with slurps of whipped cream. In my 30 years there it was rare that we ever got a blizzard, but when we did it was ten times better than Christmas. If things were bad enough the government would shut down, always a nice touch. Like an impromptu trip to the moon, snow offered total fun for everyone despite the fact that you couldn't park anywhere for the next week. Every hill in every neighborhood was instantly swarming with children in bright snowsuits, sledding or tubing their way down amid the barking dogs and chaperoning parents.
Here in Maine where snow is commonplace, it's a yawn if not a major pain in the ass. Right away I flash on "no hot tub and the cats have to stay inside," two quite negative thoughts. In reality it's no big deal since the plow guys and salt spreaders show up quickly, making driving fairly easy. In fact nothing really stops for the snow, so it's business as usual except slower; it's the ice and freezing rain, both caused by our frigid temperatures, that keep you trapped inside for days. (I currently am in possession of 16 rolls of toilet paper.)
Looking out the window I can see that it's pretty, but that's what happens when you get too much of a good thing: It stops being a good thing, which is why I'm grateful Jackson Browne only plays here every few years. I'd hate to get tired of him.
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