Winter Wonderland

It snowed on Wednesday.  It wasn't the two feet that is still causing blackouts throughout most of Connecticut and the northeast, but it was a solid six inches, in mid-October.  Awkward.  I grew up with tons of snow every year.  In the forth grade in Connecticut, our plow man/neighbor once dug a path from the front door to the driveway after a major storm, so we could get to school.  The snow on either side was taller than I was!  So, normally six inches wouldn't have been an issue, but since it is still so early in the season for snow, none of the trees had decided to drop their leaves yet (which obviously is a conscious decision they make).  The problem was that the snow was heavy and wet, and the poor little leaves were holding onto the branches for dear life... when I walked outside the next morning, it looked like a serial tree murderer had run rampant through the town.  Hardly a tree stood without some branches cracked or snapped right off.  The tree in front of my apartment staircase was bent so far over I actually had to climb through the branches (still attached) to get to my car.  It was... an adventure.

(photo stolen from Sarah B)

Historically, I've always allowed the snow and cold and my body's inability to control my internal temperature get to me.  I mope and whine and shake my fist at nature because of frizzy hair, numb toes, and wierd entire-body chills I endure perpetually throughout the winter months.

(This is usually what I look like six months out of the year.  Freshman year anyone?)

I was on the road to that last week when I first heard about the ridiculously-it's-too-early-for-this-garbage-foot-stomping-but-then-you-get-snow-in-your-shoes-unfair storm on its way.  I watched in horror and misery as the monsterous angry clouds came over the mountains and subsequently ate them.  I even felt the first few snowflakes on my ill-prepared bare arms as I ran hunched to my car.  I pretended it wasn't happening, thinking if I refused to acknowledge it, it just wouldn't happen.  Then I went to Zumba.  When I came out, a good inch or two had already fallen.  I almost cried.  True story.  On my way home after a few more errands, I was stuck behind a coordinated staggered three-plow caravan and spent the extra time contemplating the next six months of bundled-up misery.

The next morning, I woke up.  It had all been a dream!  Horray!  It was bright and sunny and warm outside.  FALSE.  It was still snowing.  And the trees were sad because their limbs were all broken off and they were naked stalks sticking out of the piles of white death. 

(photo stolen from Mark)

But somehow, overnight, my entire mindset had changed.  My unconscious mind had decided this winter would be different.  Sure, I will have those awkward chills that make me look like I'm having a seizure and allow others to openly mock me.  No, I will not be able to feel my toes until June.  Those things are unavoidable.  BUT.  I have boots that keep the snow out and sweaters that keep some heat in.  And hot showers.  And a car with seat warmers, even though it's already gotten stuck (tender mercy: friends that will help dig it out!).  And an electric blanket.  And an apartment with heat (even though I've already ruined several items of clothing by letting them get too close to the heater).  And hot chocolate.  And thick socks, and fleece pajamas, and...

Yep.  Bring it on, Colorado.  I'm ready for you this year.