What mercy to have a snowy February, dropping soft white flakes of delight on an otherwise dreary month, made worse this year by the impending one-year anniversary of quarantine, a teenager impatient to rejoin the outside world, deplorable national politics, and my resulting fragile psyche.
My “Post-Pandemic” list now has 22 items on it. When exactly one can declare the pandemic “over” enough to do those things is just another unknown.
Thankfully, we don’t have to wait until then to go sledding and otherwise romp in the beautiful white stuff.
Also, I’ll take pleasure in whatever I can wring a little pleasure out of—such as the things saving my life, obvs, but anything else I can think of along the way, like:
- fun books from the library (Chosen just for me! Not required school reading),
- these custom press-on nails that I’m newly obsessed with,
- picking out pretty flowers and heirloom vegetable seeds from Burpee.com for the hypothetical garden I may or may not follow through on later this year,
- and incessantly checking the weather forecast and reporting to anyone in my household who will listen exactly how many inches of snow may or may not come in the next weather event.
It’s inexplicable why anyone would be tired of being cooped up at home with me after only eleven months.
I say, if it must be the winter, of the world and of our discontent, let it be liberally sprinkled with fresh snowfall.
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