Snow

I was born 936 weeks ago today.
I'm not saying today is my birthday. It's not. But I was born 936 weeks ago. Meaning I was born on a Saturday. (We good?)

Apparently it was snowing the day I was born. It was the first snow of the winter of 1992. My grandfather drove all the way from Charlotte, North Carolina to Ohio in the snow.

I have this thing for snow. I love it. I absolutely despise bitterly cold temperatures, but I adore snow. Sometimes when it's snowing, I sit on the top of my washing machine for extended periods of time and watch out the laundry room window out into the backyard. Everything is just so pretty when it snows.

There's an episode of 'Gilmore Girls' where Lorelai goes on and on about how she loves snow. I think this pretty much sums everything up:
"It's just my favorite time of the year. The whole world changes color. Flakes, flurries, swirls, crystals, whatever form it comes in. I'll take it. We go back, snow and me. We have a beautiful history. Sleigh rides, ice skating, snowball fights. I'll even take curling. God, I love curling! Hot cocoa, hot toddies. Best time of the year!"

Snow just gives everything a whole new light. It refreshes the world and my perspective on it. Watching those spastic little flurries brings me indescribable joy.

It's snowing today for the second time this season. I feel this is totally appropriate, given the fact that I was born 936 weeks ago today. I feel like it's snowing just for me. And I know that's selfish and completely untrue. But just let me have it. Please.