I traveled north for the holidays in hopes of seeing more seasonal weather while holding on to that ever-wish for anyone who’s a kid at heart this time of year: a white Christmas.
When we got back from New York City on Tuesday there was plenty of the fluffy white stuff around. By Christmas eve all the white was washed away. The bad winter storm that dumped so much snow through the Midwest last week wimped out by the time it got up to New England and massive snow turned into a steady, cleansing rain.
The irony in all of this is that this year I left a south Texas destined for numerous record snowfalls on Christmas day or for most any winter day for that matter. Consider Victoria, Texas, a town further south than my home area of Houston: those lucky denizens got 10 inches of show, their first white Christmas since 1918. Even our beach-front city of Galveston was blessed with four inches of white Christmas. I, who bravely flew north into the cold much to the amazement of friends and family (“you’re supposed to fly south in the winter, doofus”), had to be content with a brown Christmas, my well-intentioned plans to be smack dab in the middle of snow country failing to yield the desired whiteness on Christmas day. Cold, you bet, got lots of that…snow, no way.
As I sit on the day after Christmas and write this in a warm and cozy coffee shop in downtown Keene, New Hampshire, it is of course snowing. Now. The day after. Pfft. Still, it’s nice, even if a day late. And I can take solace in the fact that for the next few weeks I’m still up here in New England my chances to play in snow are immensely better than if I was back in Houston. But still, to fly all this way just to have the weather Gods play the Texas white Christmas trick on me is just plain mean, not to mention unfair! I’m still not through pouting about my misfortune so if you’ll excuse me I’m going outside to make a snow angel or maybe throw a snowball at someone I shouldn’t. Maybe that will help me forget.