Scarcely two weeks ago, I was in Kentucky, visiting my folks, and about to hurry back - to see the biggest snowstorm to hit Pittsburgh in decades. We came back to a week of snow days, and for a few of them I was pleased: pleased for the girls to get the kind of Big Snow experience I remember from the late '70's in Lexington (6 weeks straight of no school!), pleased to get to wallow in winter, pleased even to shovel - at least when I looked behind and saw the space of clean driveway behind me.
Two days ago, I got back from a short trip to DC - where I saw pansies blooming and some bare patches between piles of dirty snow. Since then, we've had another snow day, and two occasions for shoveling the driveway. I'm glad to get the exercise - always - but golly, I am tired of this single form of it.
We've basically hunkered down. My two young vegetables, I mean children, have watched four movies in the last 2 days. They have read. Hazel has even done math sheets, voluntarily, for entertainment. Even the chickens seem to feel cooped up. (sorry, couldn't resist) When I see a blade of grass sticking out next to our sidewalk after I shovel, it is cause for excitement, because I feel I can hardly remember life before snow - even if the blade of grass is not exactly vibrant green.
And I have to keep reminding myself: it is still February. It is fine to have snow in winter, because some years we have very little. I should enjoy it, because who knows how long it will be until there is another winter like this one? So in a few minutes, I am going out skiing, and darnit, I'm going to try to enjoy this.
Because really, winter is almost over. Isn't it?
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