I hate snow.
With the holidays upon us I realize that's a lousy way to begin a post, so let explain. I love a fresh snowfall. I love watching big, puffy flakes fall from the sky, and catching them on my tongue. I love going for a walk in a fresh snow, feeling it gently crunch beneath my feet. I love looking out my window right after a snowfall, when everything as far as the eye can see is covered in white, and the world seems somehow smaller, and oh, so peaceful.
But I am from New York City, where a fresh snowfall lasts about five minutes. In Manhattan it disappears just about that fast. However, in the outer boroughs, where I am from (The Bronx) the snow lingers. Almost instantly it turns an ugly shade of gray as automobiles cover it with a light patina of soot. From there it turns into a crusty brown fugue that pools up into ice banks at the curbs and between parked cars, and can lurk there like a derelict until spring.
I hate that stuff.
I also don't like cold weather. I was born in the summer and that is my favorite time of year. If I had a choice between ninety degree sweltering heat and seventeen degree frigid cold, gimme da heat. That's just how I am wired.
The only time I long for a snowfall, or a frosty winter's day is during the holidays. Ah, but there's the rub. A long time ago my son and I escaped New York for Southern California. We love it here. But anyone from the east or Midwest knows Christmas out here just isn't the same.
Out here, December twenty-fifth looks a lot like June twenty-fifth, or March twenty-fifth for that matter. Yes, the shops are decorated, wreaths are hung, Black Friday is still a shopping nightmare, and holiday lights abound. But when it's seventy-five degrees, or even eighty, hot apple cider just doesn't go down the same. Southern California has many advantages, but this time of year SC sucks.
All across the nation it's beginning to look a lot like Christmas. On my block, it looks a lot like it always does. *sigh* Guess I'll have a Corona and go for a swim. Ho, ho, ho.