In all of my 45 years on this planet, it has always snowed at least once during the winter months where I live. Sometimes we've been blessed (only thinking in terms of being a kid) with blizzards every two weeks or so. While the very mild temps have made my heating bill smaller, and the ability to drive around very easy--well, no snow was making us all scratch our heads in puzzlement.
How can we be tough people with no snow to crab about? No snow blowers primed and ready to go? No cancellations and early outs for the school kiddies?
Well, we finally got snow. A mere 8 hours or so after breaking a record for 49 degrees on a January day. One day after I ran around the park with a short-sleeved running shirt on, actually sweating in the 50+ degree weather. After discovering I still have a pot of rosemary green and growing on my back patio.
I think the rosemary is dead now, since it's covered in snow and the temps plunged about 25 degrees. I shoveled yesterday when I got home from work, and it only took about 30 seconds before I started my internal bitch fest. Remembering that I have not one, but two sidewalks to shovel really set me off on a mental rant. I remembered that I hated shoveling snow. Bud always comes over and plows my driveway (and my nosy neighbor watches his every move) which I appreciate to no end. I am a shovel once kinda gal. I refuse to spend time on making my driveway, porch, and sidewalks pristine and snow free. That's called Summer. I clear them off enough that I don't get in trouble with the city, the mail carrier can get around, and I can get my truck in and out of the driveway.
So I'm done with the snow. Once was enough for me. I'm happy to see the white, but no more, thank you. We are all cheered at the thought that it's the middle of January, and we only have about two more months of potential winter weather. Fine with me!