I wanted to sleep in this morning. A really lot. My alarm was somehow set for 5:40 (why?) but I merrily turned it off and snored for another hour, until Ziggy The Cat Who Could Stand To Lose A Few Pounds, Not That I Should Talk, came and did that “Mrr? Mrr?” thing right by my ear. For about fifteen minutes straight. “Mrr? Mrr?” I grumbled out of bed and went downstairs to get my laundry out of the dryer, thinking about the sandwich I was going to make for lunch today (I went with pepper turkey, Jarlsberg cheese, and baby salad mix, thanks for asking) when all of a sudden! Snow!
It doesn’t snow so often here. Last year I don’t think it snowed at all, which meant Carl didn’t take me skiing for my birthday as he usually does, which meant I deprived everyone of yet another spectacular yard-sale type fall, the kind of fall that starts pretty much when you get off the ski lift and doesn’t really end until you’re pretty near the bottom of the hill. The kind of fall that causes you to lose your hat and gloves and scarf and glasses and maybe a boot on the way down (hence the yard sale, you see…all your stuff, displayed out upon the glittering white, as if for sale!), leaving a clearly discernable trail for your boyfriend to follow, once he stops concentrating on his telemark turns and actually notices that you’re not right there with him. So maybe it’s good we skipped that little tradition last year, because I’m not altogether certain that I have completely healed from all my bruises from two years ago. Very difficult for people from Florida to learn how to ski, I’m telling you.
So this morning I put on my long underwear from 1994 (color: bright teal) and some thick socks and my polarfleece sweater and my thickest shoes and my pea coat and my rain shell over it and my basketweave scarf that I made and the green hat I made for Carl to take to Alaska and my red gloves and managed not to spill my hot chocolate as I swept the snow off the car. It was raining, which seems sort of unfair. I drove slooooooowly to the park and ride, where it wasn’t snowing at all and where it was just plain raining and where I felt sort of silly for having gone to the trouble to put on my long underwear (just the bottoms, but still) from 1994 that I hate more every time I put them on. But still. Up where I live, it was snowy and crystal-y and even a little magical. If you’ve spent most of your life where it never snows, even just a little snow is a pretty great thing. Especially if you know it’s not going to last and you’re not going to have to shovel out your walkway or whatever every day for the next four months, if it’s just this sort of freaky thing that happens once in a while. Just a little bit of snow, that’s nice. Maybe I’ll go skiing after all this year.
Every time it’s snowed in Seattle, since I moved here, Carl has been out of town. Without fail. Okay, I lied, he was here for one time a couple of years ago when Rob and Anna were here to visit. But most of the times it’s snowed since I’ve lived here, he’s always out of town. This is very sad for him. He loves snow. I like to leave long voice-mail messages for him when it snows and he’s not here: “Dude, I can’t believe you’re missing this! It’s like a winter wonderland here! Or something! The cats hate it! Dude, you missed it again!” He tells me that one time when he was a kid it snowed so hard he was able to ski around his neighborhood. I don’t know if I believe him on that. It doesn’t really matter though because I don’t think he’ll get the chance to replicate that experience, what with him being the Antithesis of Snow.
That’s exactly it. That’s his superpower…he makes Seattle into a mild sea-level microclimate, with a high of 55 and a low of 45 all winter! It’s all rarin’ to snow all winter, but somehow he forces it back! Until he goes out of town again. Then! Winter’s fury is unleashed and makes Chiara late for work! I see how it is. Come home, Carl! The weather outside it frightful, and I need you to make it delightful! It snowed!