Snow days are a rarity in the South. Just when we think we've hap
pily left winter in our collective dust...And we begin to obsess over the idea of sitting by the pool, lake, ocean or some other body of water...with our toes on the deck, dangling off the side of a boat or buried in the sand....And we are exploring vacation spots on the internet and sighing deeply at the sight of palm trees and water parks...Well, that's when March sneaks up behind us and shouts,
Surprise! You're not done with with me yet! And before you know it, children are newly obsessed with finding two gloves, the art of layering and the making of the perfect snowman. No matter that the snowman's body consists mostly of wet clay, dead grass and pine needles. This is fun, fun, fun!
And yet soon our personalities, quirks and genetics begin to show.
It's too cold, mama. I'm wet, mama. My hands are stinging, mama. But I don't waaannnna to come in, Mama...wails one. While the other happily persists in making the clay-grass-snowman, tasting the enormous snowflakes and crafting perfectly spherical snowballs.... until finally she looks up and realizes her thin-blooded, warmth-loving fam
ily has flat-out deserted her. Puzzled, she stands at the door and says,
What are you doing? Come out and play. But alas, the moment has passed, and we are all back in our places by the fire and space heaters observing, from a distance and from the inside out. As it should be if you live in the Deep South, and it insists on snowing one fine March day.
pily left winter in our collective dust...And we begin to obsess over the idea of sitting by the pool, lake, ocean or some other body of water...with our toes on the deck, dangling off the side of a boat or buried in the sand....And we are exploring vacation spots on the internet and sighing deeply at the sight of palm trees and water parks...Well, that's when March sneaks up behind us and shouts, Surprise! You're not done with with me yet! And before you know it, children are newly obsessed with finding two gloves, the art of layering and the making of the perfect snowman. No matter that the snowman's body consists mostly of wet clay, dead grass and pine needles. This is fun, fun, fun!
And yet soon our personalities, quirks and genetics begin to show. It's too cold, mama. I'm wet, mama. My hands are stinging, mama. But I don't waaannnna to come in, Mama...wails one. While the other happily persists in making the clay-grass-snowman, tasting the enormous snowflakes and crafting perfectly spherical snowballs.... until finally she looks up and realizes her thin-blooded, warmth-loving fam
ily has flat-out deserted her. Puzzled, she stands at the door and says, What are you doing? Come out and play. But alas, the moment has passed, and we are all back in our places by the fire and space heaters observing, from a distance and from the inside out. As it should be if you live in the Deep South, and it insists on snowing one fine March day.
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