I know, I know. There are those of you out in the world (mostly to the north of where I'm sitting) who are sick and tired of snow and can't wait for Spring, but this week marked the first time this winter that my feet have had the pleasure of making that muffled tromp through settled snowflakes. I don't know if it's because I'm a winter baby or what, but I absolutely adore snow. I love the way it smells, the way it sounds, the way it makes me smile when I get a flake stuck in my eyelashes. It's almost February and I haven't had nearly my fill of it yet, so I apologize in advance for wanting a couple more good snowfalls before March goes out like a lamb.
I do NOT, however, love ice. Ice belongs in beverages, and at the polar caps, but that's about it. It certainly doesn't belong on my morning commute. Or my evening commute for that matter. Ice makes me cranky and wonder if this will be the time that I finally wipe out and break something vital to me, like a bone, cell phone or my camera (not necessarily in that order – bones can probably be repaired at less of an expense).
I don't really have a lot planned to do this weekend, but I need to do something, even if it's just watching the combined 18 episodes of Tivo'd Grey's Anatomy & CSI that have been loitering on yon DVR since way back in '08. I'm going to aim for something loftier, though, like finish weaving in the ends of my Noro scarf, or maybe even * gasp* seam Mimi.
Yeah, I wouldn't hold that breath for too long if I were you.