I love snow. I always have. On an existential level, I think snow is the great equalizer. It reminds me we are all in this together. When I taught in a poor section of West Philly, I remember thinking about how the snow fell on all of us: rich and poor, black and white, old and young, nuns and lay teachers. It made me giddy. It still does. No matter how rich you are, you can’t stop the snow from falling. You can’t control it. No matter how poor you are, you get to experience the snow too. As I await the current snow storm, and as a teacher I wait anxiously, I wonder about people that don’t like snow. I don’t get it. Did they not have a childhood?
Over the holiday my partner and I chased the snow from the mid-Atlantic region to Vermont. Winters without snow are a rip-off. Honestly I don’t believe I am 47 years old. I don’t count the years that have had mild and disappointing winters. If I subtract those seasons, I’m probably only 36.
Two weeks ago we got snow. I trudged through the snow into town flopping myself down and making snow angels. Trying to be discreet, I only Nestea-plunged in areas less visible from the main road. What would people think seeing an overweight, middle-aged woman collapsing into the snow?
I took pictures of the ice that had formed on every little branch of the Forsythia bushes, of the sun peeking through the trees, of the tips of the willow trees dipping into the pond creating ice pendulums.
Snow reminds me to enjoy life. It reminds me of who I am. These moments don’t come often and disappear quickly. Snow forces me to be present in the moment and live life. I NEED to play in the snow. So please, put down your cell phones. This oompa loompa is rolling around eating snow on purpose.