Winter wonderland . . .

It has been and continues to be one of the coldest, snowiest winters I remember since having lived here these past fifteen winters.
Right now, it is a whopping five degrees here (negative 11 with the wind chill factor), which I understand would  be considered downright balmy,  a heat wave of sorts, if you live in places like  . . . say . . . Montana or Minnesota or Alaska.
But we do not live in those places. We live here. And let me tell ya, five degrees is stinking COLD!!
We had a snow day yesterday, which was really more a cold day, since the six inches of snow we were expecting didn't really pan out.
But I was glad for the day anyway.
Snow days. They are odd things. It is like . . . you are facing a day with alarms and and bells and plans and things to be done . . . and then this silly white stuff fluffs out of the sky, and gives you the day, free and clear of all previous engagements and responsibilities and deadlines -- a gift . . . and you get to stay at home instead, and drink hot cocoa in your jammies, and read that book out-loud to the kids that you put down last month and haven't picked up since, and learn how to play games like Axis and Allies with your sons (which, I am convinced you need to be a successful military mastermind to be able to read the directions and understand what they are saying), and catch up on your own reading pile, as well as a few piles of laundry. Perhaps, venture out into the frosty evening for some soup at Grandpa's house. And maybe, just maybe, take some time to become officially addicted to Fringe. Which is exactly what I did with my gift of a day.
Today, as I was at the sink doing dishes, I looked out at the flurries that were swirling out of the sky. The ground is covered with snow, as it has been since Christmas Eve. The trees are bare, sinking into the snowy earth. It is so beautifully stark, this season that reminds us of the death part of life. Spring seems like a far off dream we had once, a long time ago. We face fires. We dig in and wait it out. The cold rattles our bones and we draw a little closer to each other for warmth, and comfort. We listen for each other breathing under mountainous covers in the night. We wrap up in favorite sweaters and don fuzzy slippers and cook hot soups and thick stews and put on a few extra pounds . . . to keep us warm, of course. And we are thankful more than ever for our walls and roofs, and venture out of them less. It is a quiet, cold season. And it is lovely.

More adorable "Daniel-isms" . . . he took a sip of soda today and fanned his mouth and said, after a hard swallow, "That's warm busy!"