In light of snow days, here's a more light-hearted post about what warms my memory on days like these....
Snow days. They start with that hopeful anticipation the days or nights before. Kids all frolicking at the thought of snow trickling down from the heavens, bearing freedom to their school-weary souls. So many glances out the windows, at school and home, looking for those white flakes of relief, those fluttering hopes of bliss in the sky. As a kid, we know the wonder, the joy, the great "watching" of the skies.
Growing up in Michigan, snow days were a given each year. And when a snow day came, it was really a snow day! It meant mounds of snow had poured, back yards were filled to the brim, plow trucks were scraping intersections, salt was dotted along every sidewalk, and family pets were layered in white, rustling through the acers.
In my home, snow days were a glorious bliss of activity and rest. We'd start with episodes of Saved By the Bell, syrup and butter oatmeal pancakes, and sit around in our sweatshirts. By mid-morning we were bundled in snowpants with hats and scarves and facemasks and heat pouches in our boots. We'd jump on the Arctic Cart and start the rumble of it's engine. After a few rounds of tracing the 20 acers with lines of evidence, we'd grab the orange Ziffy Whompers and plastic sleds and tie ropes from the snowmobile. Oh what fun! Hours found circles around our property, our bodies smelling like fuel, and our hearts laughing as we'd see how high we could get the sledder in the air on the jump between the 10 back acres and the front.
We'd waddle back inside, our legs thick with snowpants and hands frozen with iced threads. Time to stir the macaroni and cheese and warm our bellys and bottoms! Come afternoon we'd haul out games like Clue or Life or Payday, or create a "village" downstairs, each with given roles to play.
Then it was time for activity again: layers of Columbia and Cuddle Duddles insiutated warmth while we rolled out of the driveway for the Middle School Hill. Gigantic from a kid's eyes, it included handmade jumps and wipe outs and people from all over town. From bright colored ski jackets to camouflage to deer-orange hats, what a sight to behold! Dad's with kids lined up on old wooden toboggans, teenagers racing down on twirling red saucers, and mom's dragging two year olds back on the climb. The celebration of snow.
In college, I remember Snow Days manifested into cafeteria trays-turned-sleds, twenty year olds on Olson Lawn throwing snowballs, and hours spent with milky cappichino in the D.C. We'd spend quiet hours with movies on couches, girls piled in layers to see, and stir Easy Mac in plastic bowls. One January was Euker played endlessly in the hallway, girls learning to crotchet, and Alias streaming from hand-me-down tvs.
My favorite "grown-up" Snow Day was dominated by bright yellow walls and blasting green carpet, in the old brick house on Hildebrand Street. It was Angela, Marilyn, Jenelle, and me all snuggled inside under blankets and crumbs and relaxing in pjs. We'd cued up season after season of Gilmore Girls, propped our feet up, and filled the coffee table with every junk food possible -- from Doritos to Dove chocolate to red Twizzlers piled near our feet. The snow grew heavy, sheeted with ice, and we talked and sauntered and laid around to simply be.
I watched kids at school yesterday sparkle with the first flakes of snow. The first evidence of arrived anticipation, assured hope. They were giddy with catching flakes and tasting them on their tongue, awaiting the arrival of buses to go home. Today, I imagine they're inside, ready to spoon in mac & cheese, cue up another NetFlix, and find mittens for playing with neighbors. I'll sit here at the table typing with Mark, coffee both cupped next to our computers, still in our "scrunchies" at noon, and smile as I think, dream, and reminisce of Snow Days.
