My best friend, Terri, doesn't have much in common with Lorelai Gilmore, but one thing that they both adore to a disturbing extent is snow. And they're both a little witchy about it. Lorelai can smell it coming and Terri beckons it with a little penguin totem that sits on her front porch wielding a banner that says, "Let it Snow."
Terri can also make snow appear — and stay — through reading material. When she was reading the "Twilight" series it rained all summer long (and we live in a desert). Although that's not snow, the same principle applies. She is a witchy, witchy woman and, if she had her way, she'd pull an Elsa and put us in perpetual winter.
I, on the other hand, am not a lover of snow. In fact, I have hated it most of my life. But, in recent years, my resistance to the wet, fluffy, white stuff has started to wane. Don't get me wrong, I'm not even close to loving it Lorelei-style, but I'm beginning to see the allure.
Snow Is Magical
Whenever Lorelai talks about snow, the word magic isn't far behind. She craves the magic so much that she continually freezes out her loved ones — opening windows and dragging them out of bed — to get just one more whiff of that magical snow air. Lorelai says that all the best things in her life have happened in the snow — her best birthday, her daughter's first steps. She views it as a promise of good, unexpected things to come — and I think Terri does the same.
As I've started to look at snow as more than a huge pain in my ass that makes me cold, wet and possibly stuck somewhere getting colder and wetter, I think I'm beginning to understand the magic. At first I just equated that little tingle with the holidays. I've always loved a white Christmas. But that was about all the snow I was willing to take. The week before and the week following Christmas should be snow-filled. But the rest of the year? Forget it.
Today, however, I looked at the brilliant blanket of white covering the world and felt a little bit of the Terri & Lorelai magic. I felt excited (and possibly delusional). I voluntarily donned my coat, hat, boots and mittens and went outside to shovel the snow — even though I have someone to do that for me.
The snow transforms my barren garden and naked trees into things of beauty. It makes our old dog act like a puppy. It slows everything down and makes the world quiet. Peaceful. Still. A world covered in snow almost feels like a secret. Like anything is possible.
Snow Is Miserable
After my jolly jaunt into the great, white world I became re-acquainted with why snow has never been my one true love. I was a dripping pile of wet — wet hat, wet mittens, wet coat, wet boots. My challenge was to get everything off and in a position to dry without spreading the cold, wet mess throughout my entire house.
Unfortunately, I went in through the back door, but needed to get to the front door to take off my boots. I considered taking them off in the kitchen, but in my efforts to un-drip myself I had pretty much already made the surrounding area around my feet wet. Any attempt to situate myself somewhere else in the kitchen would only lead to more puddles.
I rested my sopped hat on a barstool over a vent and left a trail of wet footprints and drips across the kitchen to discard my boots and coat in the front entryway. Once everything was hung up I dutifully wiped down the kitchen floor to erase the scene of the crime. However, the more I worked on the floor, the worse it seemed to get. I realized I had enough wet dog prints on the floor that you'd think I ran a kennel. And then I got a good, strong whiff of that wet dog smell. My favorite.
And, once everything was clean and smelling better I looked outside to admire my work only to find it all covered once more in the beautiful, magical, promising (taunting) blanket of unending snow falling from the sky. The snow would always win. Always be one flake ahead of me. I couldn't conquer, control or influence it in any way. Unless having it melt all over me, the dog, and my house when I come inside counts.
I was about to berate myself for giving up so easily on the wonder of snow, and then I remembered Lorelei's falling out with the white stuff. After her magical midnite viewing of the first snow, she woke up to find her jeep frozen, buried and then attacked by a fallen branch that could no longer hold the weight of the wonderful snow. And this tried-and-true snow devotee took it personally — she literally tried to inflict pain on the snow as she dug out her car.
If snow and all of its dastardly treachery could tear down a true believer like Lorelai, then I shouldn't feel bad for quickly returning to my own natural state, which prefers to be snow-free.
Whether you're a snow lover or a snow leaver, there's no denying that there is something special about those goddamned falling flakes. I may not yet be a true convert to the snow-loving ways of Terri and Lorelai, but I'm closer than ever before. And, as long as it gives me a great excuse to cozy up in front of the fire with a glass of wine, I'll keep giving it the old college try.
Day #24 Gilmore Girls Words to Live By
“I smell snow...it’s just my favorite time of the year. The whole world changes color.
Flakes, flurries, swirls, crystals — whatever form it comes in, I’ll take it.
We go back, snow and me — we have a beautiful history.
Sleigh rides, ice skating, snow ball fights I’ll even take curling...
Hot cocoa, hot toddies - it’s the best time of the year."