I am going to be honest, here, and I hope you don’t mind.
I also hope you don’t tell me to be careful for what I ask for.
I understand perfectly well what I am asking for.
I have seen it before.
Mounds and mounds of it, piling up against window sills and on scarves and even on the adorable black noses of a few dogs now and again.
And not just any snow.
Not the kind that starts off right, but just melts into rain when it touches the ground.
I mean, rain.
Thank you, but I can have rain any old time of year.
I want a snowstorm.
The kind that warrants those puffy North Face jackets that make me smile when I see them this time of year in LA.
Because, c’mon–what is it? Sixty-five degrees? Sixty-two degrees, maybe?
I know you’re excited about your snow bunny swag, but it’s not that cold, ladies.
Not unless you’re up in the mountains and the sun has gone down.
But when I saw all the North Face jackets when I was in LA in the winter, it was not on the dark side of a mountain.
(cue my brother Jason’s comment; I am pretty sure I have poked a sleeping giant with a mention of LA on this blog)
Anyway, I hope it comes.
A nice, big snowstorm.
One in which we’re all safe, of course.
But one that blankets this old earth in the kind of cloak that makes her feel young and beautiful this time of year.
It’s part of the reason why I love the East Coast.
So let’s see some.
That’s what I am asking for, anyway.
p.s. I realize you cannot tell, but please note that I am writing from a laptop that has recently acquired brand new feet. Thank you, Apple. And no, I hadn’t realized they were called feet, either; but my computer was missing a few of those black things that it sits on. When I took it into the genius bar, the guy was all blase when he said,
I’ll give you some new feet.”
I was like, “NEW FEET?!?!?”
I also overheard one genius ask another if it’s too early to start drinking (it was around 10 am, mind you). The second genius simply said, “Why not? We ARE at a bar.”