i was out at dinner with friends. the women from the east-coast started talking about snow days, which then were described to the west-coast contingent.
as i talked, i almost conjured up that wonderful nugget of anticipation that i had felt in my chest when i went to bed as a kid. i’d stand on my bed, peering between the curtains and staring up at the streetlight, like it was some prophesizing god. it helped me confirm that blankets of snow were coming down. then, similar to christmas eve, it was terribly hard to get to sleep. and in the morning, as i was waking up, my ear was ahead of me, locking onto the radio, which my mom would have on in the kitchen. listening to the list of school closures was nerve-wracking and, oh, so exciting.
someone described hearing the name of your school called out as pure, simple joy. it was! what wonderful, innocent joy, celebrated by a day of playing outside in the billowy piles of white magic.
you know something is special when even its memory satiates.