The Snowman Who Could
It’s the oldest wish in the world. Wanting snow in July. Not just any July, but a July that is breaking all time heat records.
I love to visit snow. In SoCal snow is but an hour away, so yes, that’s what we do. We take day trips on Saturday up into the mountains and pretend we’re living back East.
I love snow at Christmas. I positively adore snow on a ski trip, as I’m sure you do. I think snowflakes are the seven wonders of the world. I am completely big hearted about snow.
Especially in July. In July, and particularly this July in the suffocating Midwest, I couldn’t have a higher opinion of snow than I do right now. Snow is virginal, pure, white, ivory, and above all, snow is cold. It is itty bitty pieces of ice, it’s that cold. It’s frozen water. I like the word ‘frozen’ on a day like today in July, Midwest USA, where I haven’t heard a sound from outside all day, because I’m locked up inside in the air conditioning.
The best thing about contemplating snow, indeed, adoring snow in July, is that my thoughts don’t have to be ruined by the reality of snow. My thoughts of snow include pine trees, ice skating on frozen ponds, and hot apple cider after a long day of skiing…which I haven’t done in twenty-five years.
Snow in July does not include gray snow, dirty snow, old snow. It doesn’t include being caught on the highway in a blizzard. It doesn’t include shoveling off the porch steps over and over again, so that finally my husband and I, living in Chicago, fresh from Los Angeles, young and foolish, stopped shoveling those stupid porch steps, and the post man, unable to get up to our mailbox, just threw our mail in the general direction of the porch.
I got stung by a bee today while watering my poor dehydrated plants. It really hurt. Last time I got stung I was walking into a yoga retreat. I don’t know what being stung by a bee while being engaged in a harmless activity could mean, but what I do know is that it would never ever happen in the snow.