"A year ago I moved to Spokane, Washington, from Southern California and on a Wednesday, the first week of November, I opened my bleary eyes and spotted spiky pine needles covered in white. In one lightning motion, I leapt out of bed, swiped my glasses from the dresser, and sprang to the window. The snow was still falling. Never had snow been falling outside of my own bedroom window. Around about two o'clock, the sidewalk out front was indistinguishable from the asphalt road, both hidden beneath an unblemished layer of powder. It was as if someone had thrown a giant white blanket over the road, then snapped and tucked it in at the corners of each front yard to be as crisp and smooth as sheets on a hospital bed."
Fat flakes pour from the sky this morning, and I feel the same wonder I described above 13 years ago in another of the essays that landed in my master's thesis. It's not that I hadn't seen or felt snow in my life previous to relocating, it's just that I hadn't lived with it to learn all the lovely nuances. The quiet, for example. Step outside on a snow-filled day and a soft silence greets you. Even road noise from cars is muffled. The clean white covering evergreens is a scene from picture books and holiday cards that never quite seems real when you live in San Diego. But now I know, it is real and more gorgeous than any drawing or painting can convey.
The best surprise, though, about snow was discovering how it makes me feel like a kid. I clomp outside in my snow boots, waterproof pants and coat, and I just want to play. I'll make anything a target for snowballs. Hurling tightly-packed snow at tree trunks, stop signs, fences, my kids is so. much. fun.
The day I first woke to snow all those years ago, later in the afternoon, I tried sledding for the first time. Here's how I described it:
"Just so happens, my house is perfectly placed at the spot where the street takes a nice slope downhill. I grabbed my brand new floppy sled and sat in the middle of the street trying to figure it out. I settled for folding my legs in half and sitting on my heels in the center of the thin, rectangular sheet of plastic, curling the front, with cutouts for handles, over my knees. A couple of pushes with my right hand and I was off. Wahooey! I was transformed on that very first ride, the very first of my life. Suddenly, I was backwards, then my legs flung around to the right, and my stomach flopped onto the top of a snow bank. When finally I was still, the sled had fully separated from my clutches and rested motionless several few away. A shiver began in my cheeks and shimmied through to my ankles. I was shaking with downright delight."
Playing, whether in the snow or with my LEGO sets or by taking the longboard out for a cruise, is so fundamentally a part of me that I feel out of sorts if it's been too long since doing so. At the same time, how easily I set aside the desire to play in order to do the responsible thing - grocery shop, vacuum, pay bills. A day like today is a beautiful reminder to indulge in playfulness. To enjoy the quiet, snowy outside while making a big snow fort!
Fat flakes pour from the sky this morning, and I feel the same wonder I described above 13 years ago in another of the essays that landed in my master's thesis. It's not that I hadn't seen or felt snow in my life previous to relocating, it's just that I hadn't lived with it to learn all the lovely nuances. The quiet, for example. Step outside on a snow-filled day and a soft silence greets you. Even road noise from cars is muffled. The clean white covering evergreens is a scene from picture books and holiday cards that never quite seems real when you live in San Diego. But now I know, it is real and more gorgeous than any drawing or painting can convey.
The best surprise, though, about snow was discovering how it makes me feel like a kid. I clomp outside in my snow boots, waterproof pants and coat, and I just want to play. I'll make anything a target for snowballs. Hurling tightly-packed snow at tree trunks, stop signs, fences, my kids is so. much. fun.
The day I first woke to snow all those years ago, later in the afternoon, I tried sledding for the first time. Here's how I described it:
"Just so happens, my house is perfectly placed at the spot where the street takes a nice slope downhill. I grabbed my brand new floppy sled and sat in the middle of the street trying to figure it out. I settled for folding my legs in half and sitting on my heels in the center of the thin, rectangular sheet of plastic, curling the front, with cutouts for handles, over my knees. A couple of pushes with my right hand and I was off. Wahooey! I was transformed on that very first ride, the very first of my life. Suddenly, I was backwards, then my legs flung around to the right, and my stomach flopped onto the top of a snow bank. When finally I was still, the sled had fully separated from my clutches and rested motionless several few away. A shiver began in my cheeks and shimmied through to my ankles. I was shaking with downright delight."
Playing, whether in the snow or with my LEGO sets or by taking the longboard out for a cruise, is so fundamentally a part of me that I feel out of sorts if it's been too long since doing so. At the same time, how easily I set aside the desire to play in order to do the responsible thing - grocery shop, vacuum, pay bills. A day like today is a beautiful reminder to indulge in playfulness. To enjoy the quiet, snowy outside while making a big snow fort!
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