It's possible that I obsess too much about snow. Perhaps I only lament the lack of snow because I am safe here in the South, knowing that any small amount of snow we get will be but a morning of magic, melted by noon. But likely I am obsessed with snow because I grew up in snow country, and I have pangs of panic realizing that my children will never know the agony of yanking off mittens, pulling off boots, unzipping a coat, unzipping a snowsuit, and pulling down jeans and long underwear in a sweat of anxiety because you are about to pee your pants. (Because you didn't really go to the bathroom when your mother said, "Make sure you use the bathroom before you go out to play!") How can they possibly build character without a neighborhood snowball fight, wondering if Peter van Opdorp and Michelle W. have once again loaded the snowballs with rocks? How can they learn determination and stamina without trailing behind a group of adult skiers who think you are perfectly capable of skiing for miles at age 6? How can they ever truly understand the thrill of agony without flying full speed into a tree and then rebounding into a barbed-wire fence while sledding?
Today we have a torrential rainfall. The streets are gushing with rain and yards are flooded. On a day like today I like to imagine the temperature 40 degrees colder and fat flakes falling from the sky. Snow in February is so much cozier than a winter rain.