Why I Love Snow
A true love story.
Many are discouraged when they see descending flakes. My reaction is the reverse. The airborne “white stuff” brings a smile as I remember snow-influenced events.
At the Day Treatment Center, there was always a bit of discussion after the clients had gone home. The staff remained for an additional hour, cleaning up, preparing for the next day, and attending meetings.
And exchanging scuttlebutt regarding the world within and the world without. Popular movies were often discussed.
Not many were interested in the current Hollywood hype vehicle, so my coworker Mary and I decided we’d go see it together. Our first date would be to the theater at Mohawk Mall to see the ever-romantic epic, “Apocalypse Now.”
It wasn’t as bad as it sounds. At points in the movie that were particularly gruesome, Mary buried her head in my shoulder and asked, “Can I look now?”
“No, not yet,” I answered. I may have caused her to miss a tad more than the gruesome part.
We stopped for a drink after the movie and talked. The topics are lost to time. The memory of the splendid nature of the conversation and the small kiss when I dropped her off are not.
Our second date was an impromptu stop at a local restaurant after work. The Chelsea House was a surprisingly fine restaurant just down the road from where we worked in the hamlet of Tribes Hill.
We parked our cars and walked through the beginning of an early winter snowstorm. Work concluded at 4pm, so we were the first to arrive at the restaurant.
The hostess seated us near the big fireplace at a table with a view out a window that allowed appreciation of the intensifying storm. The open fire was already roaring, and thoroughly baked out any chill we might have had.
Early arrival caught the staff in a not-yet-organized state, so it was some time until our orders were taken. No matter. The warmth of the fire and the conversation were more than enough to tide us over. Soon, snow caked on the window made it difficult to gauge the course of the storm.
An hour later, we were still alone in the restaurant. We had finished our frugal entrees, but the meal was not done. The waitress brought out a treat we had not ordered, and then another, and then another. Eying the weather, the staff had realized that no one else was coming, and was sharing tastes of food that had been prepared in unfulfilled anticipation. None of the extras were on the bill when it finally arrived.
We donned our coats and headed through the deepening snow to our cars. Inadequate footwear did not deter me from clearing the windshields on both vehicles. Vision at least partially restored, we headed down the road from Tribes Hill, through the storm, and into the future.
Forty years later, I still love the snow. But since that meal, we’ve only needed to clear one windshield.
