Due to the fact that we’re going to have spring-like weather here in New Jersey this weekend (seriously, 65 degrees!), I thought I’d write about how badly I want a real snowstorm. Like, a real, full-on blizzard. It’s snowed a bit so far, a few inches here and and there, but I’m ready for something like a foot of snow. I don’t think it’s so bad if it happens once a year, or maybe once every few years. As long as you’re prepared (hello generator!) and can stand the people you’d potentially be snowed in with, I don’t think it’s terrible. Of course, it’s so much better when you’re a kid. I remember the Blizzard of ’96 here in central Jersey where we got over two and a half feet of snow. It was glorious. As a seven year old, nothing was better than having a week off from school and sledding down the sheets of ice in everyone’s backyards. I miss those days. All of us neighbor kids went around with our saucers and plastic sleds (that I, as a teenager, broke when I thought I was still light as a feather) and played in the snow until we couldn’t feel our bodies anymore.
My parents would measure my sister and I against the snow drifts on our porch to determine if we would be able to walk outside, though that never stopped us. For some reason, despite the many snowstorms we’ve had since 1996, I remember that one so clearly.
It snowed here last weekend when we got about four inches or so. It really made it start to feel like Christmas, but I spent half the day staring outside wishing I could go sledding down our hill and build a snowman and make snow angels with my sister, though she was still at school then. Then we’d come inside, have some hot chocolate, let our snow clothes dry a bit, then go right back outside. Those were the days, when we didn’t have a care in the world. I sure do miss it.