but the question is: when did we decide we wanted to live in a climate-controlled bubble?

i was reading a blog post from the Boston Globe this morning that basically called out all the New Englanders for being whiny about snow this Winter. i started to think back to when i was a kid, growing up in Connecticut. was there *anything* we looked forward to more than fresh snowfall?

i remember sitting in front of my grandparents' tv while they watched the evening news, locked in on Hilton Kaderly giving the weather report, waiting intently for a promise of white stuff. i would go to bed at night, hoping, *willing* the sky to send down mountains of snow, and then wake up early--but not bright, because the sun was nowhere near up for the Winter-shortened day yet--and lift the corner of the blinds with anticipation.

oh, to be greeted with a Winter Wonderland outside my window!


with the world freshly blanketed in sparkling white, my attention would immediately shift to the radio. WTIC 1080 AM. my dad would have tuned into the station, as he did every morning while he brewed his pot of coffee, and then bundled up to head outdoors with the task of shoveling the driveway, cleaning off the car & getting it warmed up. (something he likely woke up once or twice during the night to do as well, while i slept peacefully, with my childlike unawareness of adult responsibilities.)

sitting by the heater on the side of our gas stove, staying toasty warm while my dad was out in the icy still-dark morning, i would listen as Bob Steele reeled off the latest school closings, praying mightily that "Bristol, all schools, public and parochial" would be included. the list always started out small, as school officials assessed their individual weather situations and made the appropriate decisions, always the most rural, northern areas of the state making the first call--the areas that were districts covering multiple towns, given their lack of population density. how many times i wished we could live in "Region Six: Warren-Morris-Goshen," where they always seemed to receive enough accumulation to close! we were lucky to get so much as a 90-minute delay, if anything, an announcement that typically came later in the broadcast, either while we were in the car on our way up to Gram's or even after we had already arrived there and were settled at the table with tall glasses of chocolate milk, Bob pausing in his predictable one-sided morning banter to say he'd been handed more updates to share. (i always pictured this list as printed on one long sheet of paper, that by the time the sun started to softly brighten the world with muted light through grey snow clouds, would be puddling around his feet, much like those old paintings of Santa Claus with his List.)


i know that i'm seen as "soft" now, having transplanted myself to the state of sunshine, seventy-degrees and citrus, but back in the days of my youth, i wasn't rejoicing in the elusive Snow Day so that i could tuck myself away indoors. oh no! i wanted out! out into the pristine drifts and the frosty air, where your nose burned when you breathed it in, in great joyful gulps, and your cheeks smarted, rosy red, in just minutes.

Josh & i would tumble down the steps, bundled snug in sweaters & scarves & gloves, knitted hats layered under the hoods of puffy coats, jeans tucked into two pairs of socks under snow boots. we would burst into the yard, knee deep in snow--glorious snow!--our shouts coming out in puff-clouds. in some places where the snow would drift, like the top of the driveway where it curved toward the house, we would sink in to our waists. we would lumber through the yard, tossing handfuls of snow into the air & watching it sparkle-rain back down over us, chasing each other in slow motion, falling & getting up again, laughing, until we looked like snowmen brought to life.

and then, the best part would come when Gramp would fire up his snow blower to clear the long driveway. the snow would shoot out, piling onto the lawn where it was already heaped along the edges, creating tall snowbanks, packed tight & perfect for climbing. we would be admonished (several times) to *please* wait until Gramp was finished with his chore, lest some projectile come hurtling out with the snow & cause irreparable damage. kids don't think like that. we just wanted to stand on top of the world, towering high above the cleared ground below.


when our gloves would be so caked with snow that we could no longer bend our hands inside them, and snow would have worked its way down inside our boots, we would come back inside, often bringing half the yard's worth of snow in with us to melt in cold puddles on the floor around the kitchen door. we would drape our soggy clothes on the radiators to dry while we warmed up and long before they were ready to be put back on, we were ready to get back out again.

and after reading Eric Wilbur's blog post, i realized that the news has managed to sensationalize even snowfall now, causing panic & distress over something that was commonplace a mere two decades ago. i laugh at our local weather-chasers, who stand outdoors in slickers with their anxious voices providing minute-by-minute coverage of the typical Summer afternoon thunderstorm brewing on the horizon (maybe), as the trees stand motionless behind them & the sun shines. we treat each weather change like a pending catastrophe, yet rarely do we ever hear anyone revel in the beauty of the season at hand. it's either too hot or too cold, too snowy or rainy or humid. i wonder how i ever survived the snowdrifted Winters, the soggy Springtimes, the un-air-conditioned Summers of my childhood.


my point is this: we all know the meteorological pros and cons of where we live. maybe we have snow-filled Winter months or hurricane warnings all Summer long. but maybe we also have crisp vibrant Autumn days or mild Springs that start in March when the air is perfumed with orange blossoms and baseball begins to stretch its legs again. where ever we live, there are parts that won't be exactly perfect. we can either embrace them for what they are, recalling other days that make living here worth it...or we can find somewhere else, where the trade-off is more to our liking...but really? when did we *all* get so soft anyway?