Some Spo-fans will find this bewildering. My ancient Celtic and Nordic bloodlines apparently bubble and boil (or freeze) with the notion of snow. Perhaps five years of living in the desert isn’t enough to shake out of my bones four decades of Midwestern living. Whatever the reasons, I enjoy snow and I envy whenever I hear of a faraway blizzard.
Perhaps it isn’t ‘snow’ I miss as its consequence. I dearly love being homebound due to snow. I like that Nature still can bring the hussle and bustle of modern life to a screeching halt. Everyone should stay home. What a delight it is to sit warm as toast with a hot cup of tea or cocoa, while outside the snowy winds howl. I can’t get out/no one can come over. I don’t feel obliged to ‘do’ anything, other than some ‘snowy day activity’.
Snowbound at home provides an excellent opportunity to light the fireplace and read a book. These activities are even better in blizzard conditions, for blizzards absolutely forbid going out, while a gentle snow is sometimes not enough to veto the urge to carry on as if nothing is the matter.
It makes me think of bygone days when there was little to do in the winter but feed the animals. Certainly no one ventured out on snowy days. My ancestors spent the long winter months doing little than eating, drinking and telling stories until spring time. How lovely.
It turns cold here tomorrow; we will get near freezing. We may turn on the heat and wrap up in flannels (if we can find where we stored them). I will fall asleep tonight, pretending I am snowbound with nowhere to go on the morrow.