Good friends Robin, Dineen, and Ronie are no doubt looking out their windows at green grass and perhaps even a few green shoots. They are probably not tapping on their own laptops with a quilt upon their frigid ligaments. I, on the other hand, am staring at a lovely white landscape and a steady stream of more to come. I haven't felt warm in so long that I'm sure I've entered into a state of semi-preservation. Best if consumed before June 1st, 2063.
As twisted as it may seem, though, I'm rather enjoying the scenery. We Michiganders learn to hate winter with ferocity by the time we're 20. Much like the natives on King Kong's island, though, we've also come to need that which we fear the most. You see, sometime around mid-February, we begin to wonder if this is the year it finally happens. Winter will never end. We envision ourselves huddled around the fireplace, mugs of hot chocolate warming our fingers, while more daring souls go out to light the 4th of July fireworks.
By the end of March, however, we've seen the mercury tickle fifty degrees once or twice, so we know it's just a matter of time before the starlings nest in our barbecue grills and '67 Mustangs start cruising the streets. Oh, yes, and the Tigers shoot for another pennant with 5 players batting over .300 and not one pitcher with an ERA less than 12.
So this, one of the final snowfalls of winter, is a bit of a blessing to me. I love being a northerner. I think we should have the same pride in our roots as our southern brethren. Don't get me wrong, I love Dixie. I love the warmth, the hospitality, and those wonderful accents. But most of those folks will never know what it's like to walk through the woods and actually hear individual snowflakes hitting the ground. They'll never get to marvel at the shapes snowdrifts take on at the edge of a roof. They'll never look out at a full moon on the snow and swear it was midday.
God has blessed me with all this. As well as a wonderful wife, beautiful kids, and a home with lots of big windows to adore His creation. Forgive my sappiness. It's my backlash against taking life too seriously, getting caught up in the worries of business, and forgetting that it's all very temporary.
Like the snow on my grass. I think it's time to take a walk.