sNOw

Where I DO NOT like snow.

Snow. I am not amused.

Where I like snow. In the mountains.

We managed to escape January unscathed, only to fall for the cruelest of all groundhog tricks: just when I thought it was safe to fully embrace my early spring fantasies, lovely weather turns in the four-letter S-word. Snow? I vote NO.

(The better to see you with)

In related news, my sweet little grandson turned six *months* old on groundhog’s day—and since he saw his shadow, I’m told we get 6 more months of baby. That’s a happy thing. Snow, on the other hand? Not so much.

This week’s column will be extra short, because for the last four hours I’ve been trying to look on the bright side of this whole S-WORD situation and have been treating today like, well, a snow day. I’m still in my PJ’s at 10 a.m., on my none-of-your-business-number of cup of tea, eating a giant shortbread cookie and celebrating my amazing ability to roll so good-naturedly with the variables of life/weather. (Spoiler alert: enough caffeine and sugar will do that for you.) 





Then I realized that my deadline for this column was an hour ago.

S-word, S-word, S-word.

I’m blaming the snow.