Snow Days

Snow days. Strange isn’t it that something so inherently cold brings to mind such warm memories. For me one such memory is sitting in Mr. Emberlin’s sixth grade class room watching snowflakes the size of small snow balls descend on the lawn in front of Wichita Grade School on King Road. All I could think was, ”Please stick. They’ll have to let us out if it sticks.” I don’t remember it did or not. The anticipation of a snow day was always greater than the event itself. Like hunger being the best cook, anticipation raised any future to a level of greatness. Planning the snow fort - between the Dogwoods in front of the house of course - this year’s would be bigger and better with a roof and a place to store snow balls and a hole to pop up out of to attack from and… It didn’t matter that no one else in the neighborhood built a snow fort. We were ready, Ross and I. And after a year or so we didn't waste snow or energy on snowmen unless it was as camouflage and diversion. We made plans for counter-measures (of course we didn’t call them that), flanking movements, direct assaults, and countless other battle strategies. And all this against an enemy that was yet to be realized. But we were ready. And the joy that brings back to my memory is beyond my ability to express. I guess as anticipation raises the future to greatness, moving back through time to a more innocent era on the magic carpet of memory does the same for the past. And that is a journey I make with fondness.