One of my very earliest memories is of going out to play in the snow on a paternally-lead snowman building expedition. We determined, using the tried and true “will a handful stick to the side of the Chevy Nova?” method, that the snow was too dry to build a proper snowman. We then proceeded to kill just enough time to be sure that Mom would have the hot chocolate ready, then retreated indoors. To this day, I still feel that 15 – 20 minutes is the optimal amount of time to spend in snow. After that, cocoa becomes a necessity.
I have a somewhat later memory of seeing my new Georgia-based doctor become extremely excited over seeing a snow flurry outside his office window. I remember thinking he was terribly provincial. I was nearly three. I stand by that assertion.
I have shoveled snow. I did not enjoy it. I no longer have grandparents, therefore I no longer have to shovel snow. Life is like that.
Many people think they can drive in snow. A few actually can. No one, however, drives well.
“Chains required ahead” but no exits behind. Some days getting home from Las Vegas is the real gamble.
I currently have a pact with snow. If it promises to stay neatly tucked away in the mountains, I promise to visit it at least once a year. So far, this has worked out reasonably well for all concerned.
Skiing is not the hard part. The graceful cessation of skiing is.
Snowboarding is a cruel joke. Don't fall for it.
When hiking in the snow, steel-toed boots are not an asset. On a related note, March in South Dakota is not springtime.
I have been snowed on while on a motorcycle. Several times.
Snow is beautiful. Melting snow in the mountains is glorious.
Spring will come. Regardless.
Today's exercise: None. Consider it a snow day
Next: A meditation for the new calendar year.
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