Snow. Snow. And more snow.Whenever I get tired of it, I try really hard to remember the days when snow seemed like the most wonderful, magical thing imaginable.
For a kid growing up in Louisiana, snow was a foreign concept. Nine times out of ten, we had to run the air conditioner on Christmas.
I'd look at snowy Christmas cards and watch "A Christmas Carol", and I'd wonder what it must be like to live someplace where you were surrounded by mounds of that beautiful white fluffy stuff.
(Believe me, I don't have to wonder anymore!)
Every once in a great while, though, we'd actually get a little bit of snow. It only happened every few years, and when it did, it was only the lightest powdery dusting, usually gone before noon.
But, oh, the excitement when it occurred! School let out, shops closed down, and everyone went nuts for a few hours.
My sisters and I would run outside and stare. We tried to hold off running across the front lawn for as long as possible, because once we did, the snow would stick to the bottoms of our shoes, leaving grassy green holes in our lovely white lawn.
We'd compare the snow in our yard and on our roof with that of the other kids in the neighborhood, seeing who had the most. If your roof had angles in it, you were lucky. Snow caught in the corners, so you got more that way (unfortunately, we didn't have an angled roof...we were very jealous of the kids who did).
And, of course, the main event for all of us was the building of a snowman. The trouble was, we always had such a tiny bit of snow, it would take practically all the snow in your yard to build even a very small snowman.
But we figured it was worth it. We'd scrounge up snow, mash it together into snowballs, and we'd each manage to make a snowman 7 or 8 inches tall.
We stored them in our moms' freezers as mementos of the snow day.
One of those rare snow days came during a winter in the early part of my adolescence. I don't remember how old I was, but I remember I was going through a very introspective, moody phase. (Although, I guess all of adolescence is one long introspective, moody phase!!)
It was late morning, and the thin layer of snow was beginning to melt away.
I was standing inside looking out the window, watching and trying to commit the snow to memory.
I kept thinking, "The snow will be gone soon. I may never see snow again for years. I have to memorize the look of it before it all melts away."
I actually started crying, overcome with sadness over the melting snow.
Suddenly, my mom walked into the room.
"What's the matter?" she asked.
"I'm just sad because the snow will be gone soon," I told her, embarrassed to have been caught crying. "It may be years before I ever see snow again."
My wonderful, ever practical mother looked completely annoyed with me.
She shook her head and snapped, "Well, instead of standing there crying about how sad you'll be when it's gone, get yourself outside and just enjoy it while it's here!"
The brilliance and truth of her words hit me so hard it almost felt like a physical blow.
She was right.
Why was I standing inside crying about a time when the snow would be gone, while at that very moment, the rare and wonderful event was sparkling right before my eyes?
That brief exchange with my mom produced one of those great "ah ha" moments in my life. An epiphany.
And I've never forgotten it.
We don't have tomorrow. We don't have yesterday. We have right now.
What a waste to spend our todays worrying about tomorrow or regretting yesterday.
We should just open our eyes, look around at whatever wonder we've been given for today, and enjoy and appreciate it...exactly as it is.
