It's snowing. It's snowing A LOT. I could even be hyperbolic and say, it's coming down in GREAT @$$LOADS. Oh wait, is that hyperbole or just good old fashioned grouchiness...must ponder this...
Anyhow, there are those of you out there who peer out your window and see the snow coming down like crazy and you get excited. You giggle, and clasp your hands with joyous anticipation, and if you could, you would clap your hands together as you did when you were a little kid and say "ohgoodygoodygoody!!!" And then, filled with that child-like SNOW LOVE, you might even go put on a Christmas cd, and get out that 500th box of Christmas TCHOTSHKES, and cram them on to that last remaining square inch of your home that isn't festooned with Christmas goodness. And then you'll stand back, and admire, cradling your hot chocolate with the marshmallow melting in it, and feel that MAGIC SPOT, somewhere between your gut and your heart, that you've ALWAYS HAD at this time of year, that is strong, and resilient and can never be stamped down by LIFE.
And all the while, the snow will continue to fall, fall, fall, and you won't care that you just finished shovelling the freaking driveway, and the snow plow jerk just came by and built you a nice three foot wall, which if you try to throw your car in reverse and BLAST ON THROUGH will result in you being stuck with 2/3 of your car on the road, and 1/3 on the driveway, so for the next five minutes you'll have to RRRRRR backward, then RRRRR forward, then RR backward, and RR forward, etc, etc. All the while you'll be steaming up the car, and you won't be able to see out your back window, because a) you're totally frustrated, and b) you're SUPA SWEATY HOT from the cumbersome thick coat, hat, scarf, and gloves you've been forced to wear. Finally you'll get out of your car, and try to dig your way out with that crappy shovel you have that's really only good for pushing feather-light drifts of snow--not the wet, fifty pound sludge we have here. But, it's either that snow pusher piece of crap or your ten pound garden spade, which is really only good for chiselling through ice.
Oh, and your back will be sore tomorrow when you wake up from shovelling the driveway. You're not 20 anymore, and if you've popped out a few kids, there are some magic bones and connective workings down there that never properly melded back together again.
I don't begrudge y'all your Christmas spirit. If you must know the truth, I envy it. I too once had the spirit of the holidays deep in my guts. Sadly, I think a good chunk of it got trampled out the first time I worked Christmas in the casino. Pretty hard to be cheery, as I imagined my family sitting cozily at home eating cinnamon buns, while some jerk with a cigarette dangling off their lip shoved a $5 bill at me and grunted: "TOKENS." Not, "Merry Christmas dear, may I have five dollars worth of tokens please?" No, no, none of that. And perhaps there were some of those ever-present slobolas yelling; "LET'S GET ANOTHER WINDOW OPEN HERE!" because it was freaking busy, and all I wanted to shout was:
WHAT'S THE MATTER WITH YOU PEOPLE??? IT'S CHRISTMAS!!! WHY THE HELL ARE YOU IN A CASINO?!?
I also envy people who see the snow falling endlessly and say something asinine like; "AWESOME! I'll be able to ski soon! Wicked! I can't WAIT to get my skis out!" You might also be the type of look-on-the-bright-side-glass-is-half-full type of person who'll cheerfully say; "I like this snow better than the rain." Well let me tell you, I do not. I never have to shovel the rain. I never have to scrape the rain off my windshield, and the rain doesn't get tracked in the back door in little surprise clumps that soak my sock.
This morning, after a ten minute wrestle, helping Jack get into
2) winter coat with hood zipped back on
4) waterproof mittens
7) brand-spanking-new winter boots
and then, when he was finally dressed, I shoved on my own boots and assorted winter gear. All the while Jack's outside saying; "MOM, hurry UP! COME ON Mom! Why is Mom TAKING SO LONG?" we were 2/3 of the way to school when Jack asked; "are my shoes in my bag?"
I think you know the answer to that question.
Trudge back home, get the shoes, shuffle on back to school, get a "late slip," help the boy get all that stuff off...chat with his teacher and the education assistant who helps Jack out (lovely woman by the way), and then I shuffle on back home. I pulled the hat off my sweaty head, took one look in the mirror and saw that thanks to saturating snow I had a large blob of mascara under my eye (that was more than likely there whilst I chatted with the teachers) and really, really stupid hair.
It's still snowing.