Holy cow I love snow!
I never really knew this about myself. I always thought that I was a warm weather, sandy beaches, salt water, coconut suntan lotion kind of girl, but apparently I've been a closet snow nut all along. Ask me if I think that there is nothing more beautiful than snow falling lightly to the ground and then creating a blanket of pristine brilliance on my front yard and I will say, "Oui, oui." [To all of you doubters out there who said that I should have taken Spanish instead of French in high school because I would never use French—well, I just did use my French, so there. Oh, and there was also that time in Charleston when I befriended a drunken French sailor and conversed with him for several hours and every time I said something to him in French he responded, "No speak English." True story.]
This surprising love of snow probably has something to do with my childhood and the years I spent growing up in Alaska.
It's kind of like how I was really excited when New Kids on the Block were on television a couple of weeks ago with that other group . . . what's their names . . . Boystreet Back or something. I watched the performance on YouTube way more times than I am comfortable disclosing to all of you. Not that I'm ashamed to admit that I'm a dork, but I don't want anyone to realize just how deep the dorkiness actually runs.
After seeing their triumphant (?) return on national television, I was overcome with a desire to go to another one of their concerts. Yes, another one, because I went to one back in 1990 when I was twelve. At least, it said on the ticket that New Kids on the Block were the ones singing and dancing up on the stage, but it could have been some new kids that lived on my block for all I knew, I was so far away.
And no, not one of them saw me sitting way in the back of the stadium on like the 100th row and decided that they were in love with me and wanted to marry me that very day. Not even Danny. I know, I was shocked too!
Well, Husband was appalled that his (mature?) wife would entertain notions of driving several hours away to see New Kids on the Block. I must say that I was surprised at his appall. He requested an explanation for this strange desire of mine and I had none to give.
You can't really explain something like nostalgia.
Like the jeweler in Breakfast at Tiffany's who expresses satisfaction that they still put prizes in boxes of Cracker Jacks because it gives one a sense of continuity. Why should he care what they put in Cracker Jack boxes? Really, he doesn't care. He just cares that something that existed when he was a child, still exists.
Since I have lived in the southeast for my entire adult life, I quite forgot about snow and the effect it has. It's nice to know that it's still there and it still smells the same and it still sticks together to make the ideal weapon in a snow ball fight and it still rolls up nicely to make a snowman (though that is quite a bit more difficult now that I am not as close to the ground as I was the last time I saw snow). In the same way, it's comforting to me that New Kids on the Block are still performing the same songs they did when I was a child and they're still all bubble gum and lame. Is that really so hard to believe?
So, the weird thirty-two-year-old lady who is outside catching snowflakes on her tongue and frolicking in the white winter wonderland, making snow angels and throwing snowballs at her kids is not crazy, as it may seem at first glance. She's just reliving some fond childhood memories . . . and probably singing "You got it . . . the right stuff," in her head the whole time.