We woke up to a winter wonderland this morning. It snowed overnight; enough to cover everything in a blanket of white. Although I don’t love the cold, snow makes me happy. This, despite the fact it means extra work in terms of clearing snow off the car, shoveling the driveway, mopping wet floors in the mudroom, the need to pile on extra layers etc. Somehow I am able to overlook those things, or at least push them aside, while I dwell on the beauty of it.
A fresh snowfall – the smell of it, the crunch of snow – reminds me of being a kid. I remember getting zipped into a bulky snowsuit and playing outside with friends for hours, building forts and snowmen, and making snow angels. We lived on a dead end street, which was shaped like a key. Every once in awhile there’d be enough snow that city street cleaning crews would leave a massive pile in the middle of the street with just enough space for cars to drive around it. All the neighbourhood kids would descend on this hill of snow, which became ground zero for snowball fights and games of “let’s pretend we’re mountain climbers.” Caves were dug out and claimed, walls were fortified with ferocious hunks of carved ice and snow. It was wonderful, and when my feet and face were about to freeze off (or my mother called) I’d come inside for a snack and a cup of tea or hot chocolate, totally soaked and exhausted from it all. It was a very special time, one of the happiest of my childhood years. I’ll remember it for the rest of my days.
As I reflect back on that time I realize that parental involvement was limited here. Sure, my parents probably watched from the window and trusted that all of the kids looked out for one another to a reasonable degree, but I was essentially on my own in this snowy world, even at a very small age. I was making my own decisions and looking out for number one. The independence of it charged my internal batteries and in a way, made me feel like my own person.
I now know that this wasn’t just a lovely time, it was an important time. It was something we tried to do with our own kids too. I wonder whether we succeeded to the same degree.
I’ve been reading. Early in the book, she talks about owls and larks. (That is, people who like to stay up late v. people who function better in the morning.) Well, I never thought I’d say this, but I’m actually more a lark than a night owl. Although I certainly don’t lo-o-o-ve getting up from my warm bed in the morning, for some reason I am motivated to get stuff done at this time: I jump on the treadmill, use my Litebook, and get some writing done. (Also, coffee.)
