Snow day

The snow is falling softly outside and looks almost magical in the street light on the corner. Coming in earlier from a quick romp in the snow with the dogs Jon offered that someone should move Christmas to February, and watching those big flakes floating down I know what he means; two snow storms and a week of almost continual snow makes this feel an awful lot like December. It's beautiful, and I'm enjoying it mostly because I know that March, and then April, is just around the corner.

Looking outside to see this same sight on Sunday night was a surprise to us; I hadn't checked the weather in a while—we'd just been enjoying the warmth and the sun—so the heavy snowflakes were a bit shocking. Jon's bosses called Monday morning to tell him not to brave the roads to come in (being able to work from home in the winter is a real benefit), so instead we went out to brave the heavy snow blanketing our driveway.

Calvin is a big help. He actually really loves to shovel, and will shovel everywhere he goes, he just doesn't walk in a straight line while he's at it and we end up with a labyrinth of snow trails.

A foot of snow isn't really all that much, but living on a cul de sac there aren't very many places to put it after it is shoveled off and we end up with snow mountains. I love the snow mountains; they make me feel like there is more snow than there really is.

Snow enjoyment is not limited to human activity; Moose may not like the snow much, but Ollie is true snow dog. Jon likes to throw snowballs for him to chase, which he does with much more enthusiasm than he has ever chased a tennis ball.

Snow angels in the embankment—much easier than on the ground. When I was little we had to get down on all fours, then flip over, getting snow up our sleaves, in our coats, and down our boots, in order to make the perfect angel, which we only did in order to take a rest on our two mile uphill walk to school, a trek we had to make even in the deepest snow storms you've ever seen. Really.

He's not buying it.

Obviously we didn't mind the shoveling. In fact, we enjoyed it so much it we did it twice—once in the morning and once in the afternoon (it was easier that way)—and the second time we also shoveled our neighbors' acreage. Sometimes having anything to do is a good thing, especially when it's something fun that is followed by hot chocolate.

Sunbathing in February

The sun was shining. The sun was shining! What a glorious day. On our way home from the library the thermometer in the car was reading 35 degrees and the sun was warm so instead of shutting the garage door and running for the shelter of the house when we got home we donned sun glasses and pulled out some of outdoor toys for a while. And as I sat there on the cold driveway, the chill from the cement seeping into my three decades old bones, I started to think about those 35 degrees. In November, when the winter is first descending upon us, 35 degrees is awfully chilly—it's when we first break out the winter coats and dig deep in the closet for that other mitten we're sure was there last year—but in February, after three long months of blustery days and usually absent sun, 35 degrees is a heat wave, and has us breaking out the summer toys and sitting outside to play, only to find that, 35 degrees is still actually chilly.

Moose

This is our Moose. As an eight pound dachshund he weighs about 1/100th of the animal that most normal human beings are referring to when they use his name. He turned ten years old on my birthday this year and he's blind. Not "blind as a bat" blind, since bats can actually see, albeit poorly, but more like "blind as Helen Keller" blind. He has not always been blind but lost his sight rather suddenly last August due to bad genetics, and it has fallen to us to make his life as manageable as possible, mainly by keeping things in their place. This is a daily battle with a busy child in the house, but I think Moose has gotten used to the fact that the play room, at least, is never the same place, morning, noon, or night. Although he'd have an easier time of it if he was more than an inch or two of the ground—as it is he trips over the slightest things, including a flat piece of the favored, and often in use, train track—I think he's used to it by now. The rest of the house we try to keep to a relatively unaltered map, including the front step and garden. One thing we can't help, though, is weather.

Who put that snowbank in my way?

5 days: Christmas jammies (in the snow)

Every year we get new Christmas pajamas. this morning the several of us enjoyed snuggling up, still in our jammies, to read some Chrsitmas books. When we were done reading books he wanted to stay in his pajamas for breakfast. After breakfast he wanted to stay in his pajamas to play with trains. When we started dressing to play in the snow his pajama sentiments had not changed, so we let him slip his snow wear on over them. Now he can say he made a snowman in his pajamas.

6 days: dreaming of a white Christmas

It's hard to believe that we are already 19 days into December and until this morning had not needed to dust off the shovel. We had just started to despair of any hopes for a white Christmas when we awoke this morning to a world blaneted in white. It wasn't a thick down comforter style blanket, more a light coverlet, and by late afternoon it had started to compact down between the blades of grass, but white it was, and enough to make me finally break out the shovel. Looking at the week's forecast we still don't carry much hope for a snowy holiday, but we'll take what we can get.