Something about the snow
Don’t you just love the snow? I know I do. There’s something about the snow that suddenly endears me to my fellow man and woman. When the Weather Forecast predicts snow, I want to take them under my wing and cosy up in front of a log fire (without getting arrested). And when that’s done I want to rush around living life to the full and leaving my mark. Also, for some weird reason the snow fills me full of mischievousness.
The snow for me is like a rainbow is for other people. The snow apart from all the weird things I describe above, is for me a sign of hope. A sign of freshness. Like a good old cleanout. Like disinfectant from the heavens. When the snow comes I always find myself wishing my kids hadn’t grown up and I could take in once again, the wonder of their faces when they wake up and look out of the window.
I also wish I had a pet again. I once had a three-legged cat called Max who refused to accept that he had a leg missing and suffered the most hilarious mishaps because of his disregard of his disability. He loved the snow too. Touching it with his good (and only) front leg as though he had never seen it before.
There’s something about the snow that makes the memories come in fast and furious.
One of which is me in a pram, in a snowstorm, well wrapped up and parked in the back garden. Mums in those days thought nothing of putting baby outside in all sorts of weather. Tightly swaddled. Warm and quite safe in the Rolls-Royces of perambulators that were common in those days (what was that make – anybody?).
No matter that she sometimes had to dig me out after a few hours we were as safe as houses. I’m sure (could be a false memory) I also remember at the nursery I attended, having our usual afternoon nap on camp beds parked outside in a snow flurry.
I’m inclined to say that those were the days, that it was a golden age when we were hardy, germ free and resistant to most everything. Of course, that wouldn’t be true. Polio ran through us at speed, crippling us as it went. Committing hundreds of kids and adults to ‘iron lungs’, callipers and life-long limps. Sometimes death.
In truth, I sometimes wonder how we survived. Our diets were crap, we lived in a coal driven world and began work in our early teens sometimes in the most appalling conditions.
Yet here we are. Ravaged, yes but full of thanks (I hope) to our parents for the amazing efforts they put in for their and our, survival.
For me there’s something about the snow that serves as a reminder that life goes on. And always there’s something about the snow that leaves me with a sense of wonderment.
I watch it fall, (the thicker the better) and still, even after all those lessons at school about weather systems etc, I marvel because I still don’t get how it happens.