While working yesterday, I was talking to someone in Minnesota who happily relayed to me the joyous news, at least from his point of view, that it was snowing. It was November 7, and the precipitation falling from the sky was moist, but frozen. For some reason, this did not seem to be a problem for him, but it reminded me rather forcefully why I abandoned that ship awhile back and will probably not return. I prefer to keep myself in dry dock, thank you very much.
At the same time, I was talking online to another person, also in Minnesota, who was slightly less enthusiastic about the whole thing. Her response, paraphrased, was more or less, "Big deal. Who needs it?"
I am happy [for me, anyway,] that when I mentioned it is cold here as well, what I really meant was that it was cold for here, as opposed to cold for there. Although some may say it is neither here nor there what I think about the snow and the cold any where. And they would probably be right. But I'll tell you one thing, I'd rather be here. So there.
Of course, we have our little pretensions to winter here in our little town on the prairie, too. For example, the ice skating rink down at the Hallmark world headquarters, also known, for those not in the know, as Crown Center, [cute, don't you think?] opened yesterday morning.
Isn't that just like Hallmark, to create a fantasy world of ice and skating and warm hooded jackets and mittens, manufacturing touching moments on cue, as children don their skates and adults don their... whatever it is adults don in cold weather. I am wondering if they have photographers with cameras posted in strategic locations around the perimeter, snapping shots that will emerge on our cards in short order?
The local news anchors were there, as they are every year, to capture the first family moments and render us wistful for simpler times, the perfect emotions for the Christmas shopping mode. If the local school districts, not to mention employers, were wondering where all their people were, they should have turned on the television, because from the looks of things, there were a lot of people playing hooky that day. Call me a cynic, but I don't think Hallmark is paying for ice in November in Kansas City without a profit motive somewhere to be found. They did not get to be a worldwide powerhouse in card stock without having someone at the helm who knew what they were doing.
On a side note, each year, there is a Christmas tree on display in the same plaza, called the Mayor's Christmas Tree. It's not exactly Rockefeller Plaza, of course, but it's not a shabby show, either.
The lighting of the tree is a huge deal, with His Honor throwing the switch, generally with the help of some local dignitary, often a child or someone representing a charitable cause. When the season is over, they salvage as much of the wood as they can to make ornaments for sale, the proceeds of which go to various local charitable organizations.
Kansas City has its foolish moments, to be sure. The only times we seem to achieve national attention is when the murder rate or the unaccredited school district have once again been examined for the failures that they are, and we are put on display as the bad example we can fairly be named to be in those areas.
But we are more than that, too. It is an area with a huge heart for the less fortunate, and this is one of the better moments for us. Since I don't hesitate to throw darts whenever possible, [like I have said before, Quantrill and John Brown still ride around here,] I felt in the interests of fairness that I should also point out the good things about Kansas City.
Anyway, getting back to snow days, when I was little, they represented stolen moments, time that belonged to no one but me. It was a free day, sort of like getting out of jail free in Monopoly, except better, because you didn't have to play that stupid game to get it.
The entire day opened up as an endless vista of possibility, free of the oppression of school work and classroom seating. But it was better than a weekend, because it was an unexpected gift, and somehow, the usual rules didn't apply. There was no housework or homework, no places to be or things to do. Instead, it was a free day to pursue my own interests in my own time, and as such, it was something to be treasured.
I don't know about anyone else, but I grew up in a town which refused to call it a day unless the superintendent himself, who conveniently lived in town, about a block from the school I'm guessing, couldn't make it to the front door of the lonely building.
In Minnesota, it is considered a moral failure, I believe, to give in to the flurry of white precipitation falling from the sky, an attitude which I think persists to this day. Although I recognize that perseverance is a virtue, I must confess that I am morally weak in the area of get up and go where snow and cold are concerned. So I got up and went to the mid-south, where snow is an occasional event, rather than a November onset, half the year reality. And even then, I am left resentful and unhappy about it.
But getting back on track, here, on those rare moments when the one hour delay turned into two, and then finally, unwillingly, the moment of victory was declared, and we were freed for the day, it was like Christmas and the Fourth of July all rolled into one. It was an endless prospect of time and space, when I could read, watch television, play with my toys, or dolls, or pets, or just simply lay around in front of the heating vent, since my mother was then, as now, the queen of frugality***, and kept the house at a nippy degree of coolness all winter long.
***In a disclaimer on my mother's behalf, she is never, ever cold, and keeps the house at a temperature that she finds comfortable. She never stops moving long enough for the cold to catch her, is my theory, while I, on the other hand, am a lazy and ineffectual worker, thus, never running the risk of breaking a sweat.
My dog, Petite, and I used to fight over the space on the floor in front of the vent from which the heat would emerge. She, in her pathetic shivering, would look so downtrodden as I removed her from in front of the heat source, but I was aiming for the survival of the fittest, and it was going to be me. I would grab my ever-present book and lie down on the floor in front of the register, usually with a blanket forming a tent over the grill, and while away the hours reading something pertinent, like Agatha Christie or James Joyce. [My eclectic tastes are not something new. I've always been a little... different.]
I wasn't really one to go out and play in the snow, unless I was thrown into a snowbank by a displeased relative. [That really happened once. My dad told me he was going to throw me in a snowbank, and I got lippy and told him to go ahead. So he did.] I preferred a nodding, distant acquaintanceship with the outdoors, even at the best of times, rather than getting all up close and personal with it. Occasionally I would get on all the gear and go out and sled on the hill created by the railroad tracks behind our house, but eventually I would find myself wrapped around a tree or needing to use the restroom, and I was done.
As I got older, snow days were less and less attractive, because then it threw off my entire week, which was very annoying. I am not really into change, as a general rule. These days, it just knocks me off balance and makes me crabby. If I am set to do something, I don't like anything getting in the way. Unexpected deviations are no longer exciting but a nuisance for me, and if it means I must alter my pre-planned ideas, I am rendered useless, because I will instantly lose track of myself, anyway.
But as I was talking to the man in Edina, who was enraptured by the possibilities that were opening up in front of his eyes as he glanced out the window in front of his desk, [obviously, he's like 24 years old, and hasn't hit any life walls yet,] it brought all the hope and promise and thrill back to my mind, and transported me to a time when life was simpler for me - the future was filled with potential, and dreams were still something that could be transposed into reality.
It was a nice little mental vacation in the midst of a less than spectacular day, and a good reminder that one should always be open to the possibilities life throws your way. You just never know when your dream could come true. Although, as I have pointed out before, I am no Cinderella, and Prince Charming was only a fantasy. But perhaps the real ending will be that she didn't need him after all, and lived happily ever after anyway. Now that is a fairy tale I can get behind.
