Some girls have really bad luck with guys. They fall in love, get their hearts broken, fall in love, get their hearts broken, fall in love, etc. Understandably, when they finally find the good, right person for them, they can't relax and enjoy the love because they keep thinking it will be yanked out from under them.
I have been luckier than those girls. With one glaring exception, I have only ever been loved by gentlemen, and I've been the heartbreaker more than the heartbreakee (which is no fun either, but that's for another, more serious blog that will never be written).
Anyway, what I mean to say is that I'm like those unlucky girls when it comes to this snow. I am from eastern Oklahoma. When we get snow, it's a big event. But two days later, it's gone -- turned to mud, and in the evening, dangerous black ice. In Oklahoma, you can't waste a moment of your precious snow because it'll be gone in a few days. Every year, this happens --the heartbreak of the snow melting before I've really gotten to enjoy it. And some terrible years, the snow never arrives.
So, like the girl who can't believe "I'll love you forever," I can't believe, "This snow is going to last until April." And, like those poor girls, I become clingy and neurotic with the snow.
Every morning I look out the blinds to see if it's still there. And when it is, I am happy and surprised. This morning, I am even happier and more surprised because not only is the snow still there, but more is coming down!
But here's where I turn into the heartbroken girls again: It's not enough. The snowflakes seem really small and sparse. I'm standing in almost knee-deep snow, in probably 19 degree weather, worrying that these little flakes won't be enough to sustain it. I went out to the lake and worried because I saw no ice fishermen. Was my first thought, "Oh, the ice fishermen aren't college professors, so they are probably at work here in the middle of the week"? No. My first, neurotic thought was, "The lake is melting! Nooooo!!!"
Every day that I don't go walking in the snowy woods, cross country skiing, snowshoeing, sledding, or any of the other things you do in snow, I am certain I've lost my only chance for it. I look out the window all day and monitor the state of the icicles on my eaves. When they start dripping, my first instinct may be to write bad poetry in a journal with skulls on the cover, since I can't call the snow every ten minutes and ask if we're okay.
The people here don't understand this relationship, naturally. True love is always misunderstood. They take their snow for granted. They snowblow it. They curse it. They move away to Florida for the winter. But I know our relationship is fleeting. One day, I'll be back in the land of black ice and sleet, and this snow will keep on falling every winter like it never knew me. Sigh.