Enough already!!

Really, I don't dislike snow. I always look forward to the first couple of snowfalls -- but when it's over 3' high in your yard and higher in piles from plowing, well, it's just wrong. We're not even into February and central Connecticut has already had 71+ inches of the white stuff.


Last summer seems like years ago.

In fact, I think it might have been 3 years ago.

There was green then...and pinks and yellows and purples....and not just in winter scarves.

They say we're in some kind of weird weather pattern and we should expect to keep getting socked this way for a few weeks.

If we get any more, I might not be able to spot my Dad when he's shoveling.

I may need search parties.

I am reminded of a poem written by Courant staff writer Jim Shea, who was whining over the snowiest winter on record back in March of 1996. We had many storms that year, but they were spread out over months. This year January has buried us. But let's take a moment to enjoy Jim's verse:

March 9, 1996
100 Inches -- And Counting

It is winter.
It has always been winter.
It will always be winter.
Spring will never come.
Spring is not for us.
Spring is for the privileged.

It has just snowed.
It has always just snowed.
If it has not just snowed, it is snowing.
If it is not snowing, it is going to snow.
Snow is evil.
Snow is plutonium.

It is cold.
It will always be cold.
It has always been cold.
Warmth will never visit here.
Warmth fears cold.
It is gloomy.
It will always be gloomy.
It has always been gloomy.
When skies are not gloomy, it is cold.
And cold begets snow.

It is depressing.
It will always be depressing.
It has always been depressing.
We are trapped in a Russian novel.
There is only dark mood.

It is winter.
It has always been winter.
It will always be winter.
Will it never concede?
Will it never end?

Nyet.

My great niece Mckenzie does not like snow in her face, even though her rosey cheeks are adored by all.

She does not mind winter fashions. Her peers consider her a bit of a trend setter.

But she prefers to frolic in lighter garments.

I will turn 60 on the first day of spring.

Theoretically the first day of spring.

How will I spend that day?

Will I be wading in up to 4' of snow to knock icicles off my gutters again like today?

Will I once again have snowed packed into my boots?

Or will I be frolicking in lighter garments and enjoying the first sightings of crocuses?

Sigh.
Here's hoping!

Sue