A couple of days ago I woke up in the dark, just as I have been doing ever since The Man told me I must turn my clock ahead one hour. Yes, I resent this intrusion on my life and freedom, but after the first few days of bitter complaint I have tried to keep my mouth shut since so many of you are enamored by the whole thing. You know, out of appreciation for your feelings and all that.
Anyway. As I was saying, I woke up in the dark, to which I am growing accustomed again, and comforted myself with my usual fire, coffee, and cat routine. But when, at last, light began to grow outside my windows, oh what did my wondering eyes behold?
Not just a skiff or a dusting appropriate to the first day of spring, either, but a thick white blanket of snow. Four inches. A lot. And big fluffly flakes continued to fall, as if they’d gotten the date all wrong and were showing up for the Christmas card photo shoot.
To make matters worse, a whole lot of you out there in other parts of the world were going on about beaches and flowers, sunny days, unseasonably warm springs and 80 degree temperatures.
I confess that I was less than happy about this. I whined. I indulged in extra coffee.
And then I gave myself a shake (partly to get rid of the snow after going outside to drive a kid to school. And shoveling off the truck. And driving home in freaking four wheel drive). Ahem. As I said, I gave myself a shake and reminded myself of a few things.
Or only one thing, really: good and bad is all about perspective. In November, I would have thought the snow was lovely. And when I was six, or even twelve or sixteen, not only would I have thought the snow was lovely, I would have been playing in it the minute I realized it was there.
And as I thought about this I started to have memories of playing in the snow and how wonderful that was. I thought about the adage about lemons and lemonade. And I put on my boots and a pair of gloves and I went outside and built myself a snowman. That’s him up there, at the top of the page, looking out into the draw.
His life was short. By the end of the day he’d already fallen flat on his face, unable to enjoy the scenery any longer. But he had his day, and so did I.
I’m grateful. And I’d love to hear from you. Do you have any “when it snows, make a snowman” stories to share?