Winter storm warning! Along with most other inhabitants of the northern half of the country, I groan when I hear those words, but at the same time I feel an odd sense of excitement. You see, I have developed a love/hate relationship with snow.
Like every kid, those words brought joy to my heart when I was growing up. Snow meant a day off from school, sledding on the big hill just down the block, building a snowman or a snow fort in preparation for a snowball fight, or if the storm proved to be a bad one, a day curled up in my window seat with a good book. But as I moved kicking and screaming into adulthood, I found that snow meant other things as well.
To an adult, snow means getting stuck in traffic for hours on the way to or from work. It means worrying whether that car coming out of the side street ahead will stop in time, or skid into your car. It means worrying about that 18-wheeler careening next to you on a snow-covered highway. And when you finally arrive home, it means spending an hour or two shoveling the mess out of your driveway and off your sidewalks. Snow loses most of its attraction as you grow older.
But my problem, or my advantage - depending on your viewpoint - is though I have grown older, I've never really grown up. I refuse to do so on the grounds that it might enervate me. I consider myself fairly mature. I take my responsibilities seriously, but I will not take anything so seriously that it sucks all the joy and fun out of life.
When that dire warning flashes across the bottom of a TV screen or issues forth from the radio on my desk, the child who dwells within me hears adventure. Some folks sigh in relief when such a storm fails to materialize, but my inner child is always disappointed.
Driving through the white stuff isn't a problem. A commute through the snow carries just enough danger to get my adrenaline flowing, but not so much that it paralyzes me with fear. The year I learned to drive, it snowed every other week, so I learned how to handle the trickier aspects almost before I learned how to drive on dry pavement. I drive with caution and keep a discerning eye on the cars around me so I can be prepared for the first sign of trouble.
A snow storm also holds a certain romantic appeal. When you're safe inside an office or a cozy home, you can watch those flakes pirouette on the wind or drift gently down from above. Or you can marvel at nature's power as gale force gusts drive them across your window. Gazing out on a snowy landscape warms my heart and soul, like a cup of hot cocoa warms my body - until it's time to go out and shovel this somewhat dubious gift of nature.
I've come to the conclusion that there are just two kinds of people in this world - the fanatics who must remove every flake from every inch of paved surface, and those who believe that if God or Mother Nature made such a mess, they should clean it up. I subscribe to the latter philosophy, unfortunately my husband subscribes to the former.
I am not opposed to cleaning a path on the sidewalk so that pedestrians and the mailman can pass in safety. I have no problem with removing the snow from behind my car or digging a trail to the back door and the garbage cans, but that is where I draw the line. I see no reason at all to do anything with the snow that is not in my way.
My husband, however, sees this situation in a different light. He feels that paved surfaces must be cleaned at all costs. And they must be cleaned the moment the last flake has fallen. If the weather gurus predict a significant snowfall, this snow must get a preliminary removal at least midway through the storm, as well. You can see we have a problem here.
Since my heart is not really in this manic snow-removal frenzy, my snow-clearing attempts simply do not meet the standards he has set. He critiques my methods while I uphold the argument that such adherence to total removal is non-productive. The sun will come out eventually and the snow will vanish without any assistance from me. Why waste the energy? He finds no validity in my position, and I find none in his, and so we have a stalemate.
Through 26 years of marriage, we have come up with a compromise. If the snow accumulation is a light one - an inch or two - I let him do his thing alone. Though I feel a small twinge of guilt and he feels put upon, we both prefer it that way. If the snowfall is heavy, my guilt overcomes my reluctance to destroy nature's artwork and I join in his efforts, but I grumble about it. Another compromise - I grumble; he ignores me. It may not work to our individual satisfactions, but it works.
So I have one piece of advice for all of you starry-eyed lovers out there. Along with learning such important facts like whether your intended mate is a morning person or a night owl, and asking if they squeeze the toothpaste tube from the middle or the end, you must also find out whether they have a snow-remover or let-it-lie personality. Opposites may attract, but through a lengthy relationship they will also grate. Your only alternative is learn to compromise. If you don't stumble on snow, toothpaste or time of day, it will be something else. My advice is to start with these small compromises and the big things will come easier. anything so seriously that it sucks all the joy out of life.
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Copyright ©1996 Kath Heytink