LESLIE CRISS: Ready for Old Man Winter to be kicked to the curb

By Leslie Criss/NEMS Daily Journal

“I hear the sounds of melting snow outside my window every night and with the first faint scent of spring, I remember life exists.”
– John Geddes

“A snowball in the face is surely the perfect beginning to a lasting friendship.”
– Markus Zusak

“Spring is the time of plans and projects.”
– Leo Tolstoy

A lifelong friend posted a photo on Facebook a few days ago. “This is my swimming pool,” she wrote about the picture.
Here’s what I saw: A white fence which I assume surrounds the family’s swimming pool. Nothing but white – stark white – lies in front of and beyond the fence.
It’s snow.
Not a smattering of snow with bits of ground showing through. Real snow. Big snow. Deep snow. Cold snow. Can’t-see-the-pool snow.
Marsha, who shares my hometown of Grenada, lives with her family in Minnesota.
I think I’d like to visit Minnesota some winter. Or Vermont or Connecticut. Or anywhere there is an abundant amount of snow.
Just once I would like to be in a place where it snows hugely and the snow stays on the ground for at least a week.
I’d like to build a symphony-sized family of snowfolks, make a snack of snow ice cream like my grandmother taught me, throw snowballs at anyone nearby, make snow angels galore.
For a break, I’d like to sit by a roaring fire with a large mug of hot chocolate until I am about to break a sweat. Then I’d bundle up, head outside and do it all over again.
Maybe at that point I would become one of those people who now eyes me suspiciously when I speak of my extreme affection for snow. I could roll my eyes when someone shares their snow hopes and tell them I deplore the white stuff.
For now, however, I still love it and harbor hopes of having a huge snowfall. Next year.
Yes, next year.
For now, I am sick and tired of wind and low temperatures sure to chill my old bones and make my bad knee ache relentlessly.
There exist some in the medical profession who say low temps and rainy weather have no effect on old joints and such.
I’m here to tell them, they are wrong. Dead wrong. My knee was perfectly fine until this last round of wind and chilliness. Now, it hurts.
The trees in my yard are beginning to bud and I don’t want Old Man Winter to blast them to nothingness before they can bestow their full beauty.
I’m ready to plant flowers, mow grass, fold up the blankets, sit out on the deck.
I yearn for the outside temperature gauge to reach 75 and the sun to shine down on me consistently for several weeks without a single cloud attempting to interfere.
Until them, I will remain impatient.
Tolerating winter. Waiting for spring.

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