I used to like the snow but the older I get the more it loses its enchantment.
I think it’s because I lose my mittens.
And I have the tendency to fall on the ice two or three times a winter.
And besides, the hair static, the dry skin and the frosty nostrils are anything but alluring.
But there was a time when I loved winter a time when snow meant snowmen and Krazy Karpets and forts and snowball fights. Sometimes it just meant hunkering in a snow bank and playing house.
My fashion statement meant a bright red snowsuit and a rainbow coloured scarf.
We were hearty children who would play and play and play in the frigid weather without complaint…or none that I remember. Most days we’d venture out with nothing but our eyes exposed to the elements, then come indoors with frosty drippy eyelashes and snot filled scarves.
When did this change? When did winter become hardship instead of wonder? When did “layering” become a task instead of a treat?
I could fall in my snowsuit without sustaining injury. True, I’d lie there like a turtle on my back flailing until someone came to turn me over and help me up. But someone always did. Now when I fall…
I just feel old.
I think it’s because when I was little I didn’t believe I had a choice. Part of life meant going outside to play no matter what the weather.
Sleep, eat, school, play -made up life.
No questions. No negotiations. Simple and satisfying
Now life is filled with all sorts of choices and I’m embarrassed to say that a lot of times I choose what’s easy and safe and warm.
a new year is approaching and I’ve decided to change my ways. I’m going to make “play” part of my day and be sure I keep it non-negotiable.
And I just might find myself a bright red snowsuit in order to do so.