Snow Blessings

For what feels like the 6^th or 7^th time in the last two weeks, I am looking out my front door at a wonderland of fresh snow. It’s getting to look significantly less wonderful at this point. I was born and raised in New England, and lived through the infamous Blizzard of ’78, so bouts of snow in January and February are no surprise. Neither are snowdrifts 6 or 8 feet high. But this many significant storms in such a brief period of time are getting old. It’s like eating an entire gallon of ice cream in a single sitting: at first it’s pretty fun, but after a while it just makes you want to throw up.

But if the curses of all this snow are things like the kids missing school, trying to figure out where to put all the snow you’re shoveling, constantly running out of ice melt and washer fluid, scrubbing the trails of tracked-in snow off the kitchen floor every day, and general cabin fever, what are the blessings? I mean, there ARE times when we like snow, right? So how can I put a positive mental spin on all this snow? Here’s a list of the “snow blessings” that I came up with:

•         It looks pretty. Seriously, there’s nothing quite as lovely as looking out your bedroom window as the sun is coming up and seeing a soft, perfect blanket of white covering everything.
•         It sounds pretty. All the ambient noises are muffled, even silenced, in the falling snow. There’s a beautiful serenity in that stillness.
•         It gives me extra time with my kids. And I get creative about it. I do think of myself as a creative mom in general, but I sometimes get lazy. Spending a few snow days thinking up new and different games, concentrating on what my kids would most enjoy, just sitting on the floor with them DOING stuff together, is a wonderful blessing.
•         It makes me thankful for my husband. Especially today, when he’s away and I’m on my own to clear the driveway and the car, it reminds me how much work he does when it snows. It reminds me to be more appreciative of not only that, but of all the quiet, unnoticed things he does around the house: taking out the trash, replacing lightbulbs, hauling boxes up the attic stairs, charging my electric toothbrush, maintaining the pool, and probably a whole list of stuff I don’t even realize that he does. Thank you, sweetheart.
•         It gives you a chance to simply play. Making snow angels. Building snowmen. Going sledding, Having snowball fights. Making sno-cones and fake ice cream. Building a snow fort. Building a snow cave. Jumping into a big pile of soft fluffy snow with both feet. Blazing a trail through virgin snow. Finding footprints of animals and birds and trying to identify them. Catching snowflakes on your tongue.
•         It give you the chance to be neighborly. Taking a break for a few moments to lean on your shovel and catch up with a neighbor whom you rarely see. Shoveling out common sidewalks and fire hydrants. Snowblowing or shoveling out an older or injured neighbor. Sending your kids across the street to play with the neighbors’ kids or inviting them into your yard.
•         It’s cause for a whole list of delicious food and drink. Hot chocolate with whipped cream and/or marshmallows, hot tea in your favorite mug, homemade soups and stews, fresh bread, anything that can be made in a crockpot, chicken pot pie, lasagna, pot roast, shepherd’s pie, all those hearty casseroles your mom used to make for Sunday dinner. They’re comforting for body and soul.

So yeah, you might throw your back out trying to shovel the results of the latest storm on top of the results of the last seventeen storms. And you’ll probably run out of bread and milk and eggs and batteries and ice melt. You might even break a shovel. You’ll definitely break a sweat. But amidst your cursing, try and find a few of the blessings on this list. It won’t make spring come any earlier, but hopefully it’ll being at least a tiny bit of thaw to even the most frozen heart. 

Snowmageddon 2013

Thirty-five years ago this week, New England was hit with the infamous "Blizzard of '78." Those of us who lived through it will never forget having to shovel out the front door every few hours so we could still open it, week-long power outages, cars that literally vanished under blankets of snow (both those parked in the driveway and those abandoned in the middle of the road), and snowdrifts that reached partway up the first floor windows. Those of us who were under the age of 18 at the time also fondly remember a week of no school, dads being home from work for the week, cooking hotdogs in the fireplace, and the finest sledding ever seen.

This weekend looks like it could be the closest thing to that blizzard that we've had in a while. And although there are a few events I'd been looking forward to that might be canceled or at least rescheduled due to the storm, I'm as excited as my kids (at least, the one of my kids who knows what "snow" means) about the prospect of being snowed in for the weekend. Because to me, this is what a snowy weekend means:

The whole family spending a day or two together. Just us, making our own fun. Playing Candyland and doing puzzles.

Dinner by the fireplace.

Looking out the windows watching the snow fall silently.

Making snow angels. Taking the kids sledding. Snowball fights in the front yard.

Drinking hot chocolate with mini marshmallows and whipped cream.

Snuggling together under a cozy blanket, watching movies and eating popcorn.

Baking cookies and eating them hot from the oven.


I'm stocked up on bread, milk, coffee, and wine. We've even got leftover steak and risotto. We've got firewood and batteries and hot cocoa mix and each other. So bring on Snowmageddon!!We're ready!

Snowmageddon

Last night when I went to bed, I peeked out the window and watching the falling snow swirling in the air, hurling itself at the trees, whisking past the fairy lights hanging from the eaves, drifting past the dark cars in the driveway. This morning when I got up, I peeked out the window at a silent, white world. The drifting snow had sculpted itself into fantastical shapes, disguising the familiar objects in the yard, covering the landscape with swirls and cones and angles.

I love snowstorms. Of course, I don’t love digging out from under a foot of snow, or scraping a thick layer of ice off my car, or driving on ice-slick roads. But I love the blustery sound of the wind during a storm and the blanket of silence afterwards. I love watching the snow dancing on the wind in an intricately choreographed ballet. I love hearing the first peeps of the birds as they emerge after the snow ends, huddled and fluffing and eagerly seeking out food. I love the flash of a bright red cardinal against a pure-white snowbank. I love the icicles artistically dripping from power lines and eaves and car antennas. I love the squeak of damp snow under thick-soled boots. I love the wet thump of clots of snow sliding off a roof into the bushes below. I even love the pure, clean, cold smell of the air after a snowstorm.

By the end of the winter, I’ll be as sick of snow as everyone else, longing to see some green leaves peeping through the dirty gray slush. But now, right after the very first big storm of the season, I love it. The first storm of the season, to me, is like a dish of cool, icy sorbet to cleanse your palate. It perks up your senses, it cleanses and purifies, it readies you for what is yet to come.

So today, I will enjoy the snow. I will wait for the sun to sparkle on the ice and dazzle my eyes with its splendor. I will snuggle with a cozy blanket and a mug of steaming coffee and listen to the whistle of the wind. I will watch the birds storing up for the storms still to come. I will be thankful for my cozy house and my full refrigerator and my shoveling husband.

And a few months from now, when we’ve had a dozen storms like this, when we’ve dug out from under more inches of snow than I care to count, when we’ve risked our necks driving through white-outs and skidding over black ice, when I’m thoroughly sick of the nasty white stuff, I’ll look back at what I’ve just written, and wonder, “What the heck was I thinking back in December?”