My younger daughter, her husband and their son are headed up to our cabin to enjoy the snow. I could have gone with them, but frankly, I'd just as soon they sent photos. I don't like being cold, I don't want to fall on the ice, and hopping like a bunny on the snow is not appealing. I've gotten to be a wuss. I arrange my life so there is minimal chance of falling. I'll stay home and be bored instead. I do have fond memories but I was younger then. We lived for seven years in Colorado, where the snow was ubiquitous. Black ice was common. Ground blizzards stalled cars. We would be driving on roads where everyone coasted through stoplights, because applying the brakes was a recipe for ending up in the gully beside the road. We once had the electricity out for almost four days, and I carried my baby around the house in a snowsuit. Breaking the ice for the horse was a struggle, and the car heater on the VW van warmed the inside up to -5o from -8. Some years we had spring, some years the last heavy snow was in May. Often fall was about two weeks, then the first snowfall and winter descended. I have no fond memories of our tires being stuck to the ice and having to use hair dryers to free them. Pipes freeze. Electric blankets are necessary. No more lovely postcard winters for me. Been there, done that.
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