I love snow.
I have very strong memories of 1980s Atlanta blizzards, but it's possible that they didn't occur as frequently as my mind remembers. Our neighbors had a huge hill behind their house, and we'd take all sorts of sleddish items up the hill and then slide on down. I remember in particular this dented, silver saucer with cloth loop handles on each side. The handles would be soaking cold, even through my gloves. I've always been one to get cold easily, and I remember getting worn out and a bit cranky by the time I needed to go inside for a break. Is it truth or my cliched memory that makes me think my mom made me hot chocolate as I tried to warm up? One of my friends taught me to run cool water over my icy hands before turning the faucet to hot--if I wasn't careful, I'd burn myself.
Now that the snow is drifting down and piling on the ground, I remember those times of sledding, building snowmen with numb hands, and eventually going inside to painfully warm my fingers and toes. (How it hurt when my fingers slowly thawed!) This afternoon I went for a walk and couldn't help but pick up a couple of snowballs along the way; after I came inside, I ran cool water over my hands, heated up water for tea, and was amazed at the sensual memory of fingers slowly going back to their regular temperature.
