I’m sitting here looking out the window and I’m waiting for the ‘blizzard’.
I hate the cold. I hate the grey. When it gets ready to snow, I feel it. It’s like someone is holding onto my knees or my elbows as I am moving around. Have you ever felt like that? It doesn’t hurt, but it is annoying as hell.
Once the snow starts, however, it is one of the most beautiful things in the world. The white covers the world and makes it look new…at least until the cars get to it.
When I was a kid, my mom didn’t drive. We’d walk everywhere. And of course, having four kids, we always needed milk and bread. She would wait until after dinner if possible so that dad was home to stay with the little ones. As the eldest, I went along as ‘company’. No matter how much the others would cry to go along, mom would never allow them to go. It was our special time.
Bundled into my coat, with the scarf pulled up high on my face, I would feel like ‘hot shit’. I was going with mom! Kiss my ass, eat your hearts out! It was all about me! She would get a few dollars from dad and into the white we would go. I remember the magic of walking at night, how the snow made the neighborhood bright even where the streetlights didn’t reach.
I remember the joy I felt as my feet were the first to put prints into the snow. Since the snowplow had cleared the streets, we’d walk right down the middle of the street. It was my mom who taught me how to slide on the snow and ice. We would walk the four blocks to the store, sometimes taking a circuitous route. Now that I am an adult, I realize that this was mom’s escape from the house. She never took the younger ones with us, because they required more preparation, more attention, and they would tire easily. She claimed it was because I could carry a bag of groceries, but now, I know the truth.
We would talk about school, about what I wanted for Christmas, and after that, what I wanted for my birthday. She would ask about my friends or about the book I was reading. These memories blend into one another because this was ‘our time’ from the time I was five until I left home when I married. We went from discussing Christmas, to discussing college and boys. It was during one of these walks that I told her about my feelings for Hubs. That was the night she found out that he was out of high school already and she warned me of the dangers of ‘construction workers’ who could possibly be after one thing….(I think she meant hamburgers)
As an adult myself, I haven’t given my kids these memories. We always lived with a store on the corner (the same on I walked to with mom) We were two doors away from the in-laws. If it was snowing, my kids wanted to play on the street with their friends or in the back yards with their cousins. Our memories of snow will be different, but I hope that they never forget the sound of Grandmom’s voice calling them for cocoa, the sound of the laughter they shared with family and friends, or the magic of the sparkles.*
*As you look at the nighttime snow, and you see the sparkles, look very closely. If you are lucky, you may get a glimpse of Santa’s workshop and the little elves at work. A sparkling snowflake is the only window to the North Pole…..or so my mommy told me….