Do you know how they say that absence makes the heart grow fonder? They’re so not lying.
As some of you may know, I lived in a long distance relationship for years…with snow.
In my mind, snow was this glorious, amazing thing. It blanketed everything in sparkles. It seemed to make everything just a bit quieter, just a bit cleaner, just a bit more magical.
Snow was fun. It was playful. Flirty. Romantic.
I’d missed it so much that when I came home for Christmas holidays to discover there wasn’t any snow on the ground… I was a little heartbroken. Felt a bit stood up.
So I returned to Oz and continued to pine for snow. By that time it had become pretty clear to me that I’d fallen truly, madly, deeply in love with snow. At least I thought I’d fallen truly, madly, deeply in love with snow.
Then I moved back to Canada. I was excited to experience the colour changes of fall, experience drastic changes of the seasons and finally, finally be reunited with snow.
When I caught the first glimpse of snow on Halloween that year, I was pretty damn excited.
But then the snow just kept coming. It brought with it freezing weather, dry skin, wet boots, slippery sidewalks, treacherous driving conditions, and long, dark, dreary days.
Snow was kind of a disappointment. Snow was a bit of a douche who didn’t know when it was time to go home and never cleaned up after himself.
It didn’t take long for me to realise I wasn’t at all in love with snow. I was in love with the idea of snow. Living with the reality of snow never, ever compared to the fantasy I’d built up about it in my head. What a bummer.
My love for snow was all but gone by the end of that first winter home. These days, I try to avoid it at all costs…
…That’s my long winded way of saying I’m kinda glad Snowmegeddon didn’t happen today. And I’m not at all sorry for feeling that way.