Dear God, Mother Nature, Snow-makers, Al Roker(?),
Two years ago when I excitedly accepted my future husband’s request to relocate to Chicago, I had happy visions of city dwelling, restaurant hopping and snow. Yes, snow. Though I’ve skied numerous times and have resided in areas that have received the unusual and unsuspecting snowstorm, I really was excited about the opportunity to live in a city allowing me to be in constant expectation of snow. It had absolutely nothing to do with the hot, humid, unrelenting, miserable summers Houston offered.
Imagine my kid in the candy store-like excitement last January when the skies released a beautiful and abundant 9 inches of snow. Sure, it took my bus driver an hour to travel the two miles from work to home, but my eyes couldn’t get enough of this white stuff that was wreaking all types of havoc on the evening commute. I even opted to get off one stop prior to my usual one to finally and properly break in my snow boots and get a sufficient quad workout lifting my legs with each stride all while allowing the snow to gently fall on me.
Now I know many Chicagoans curse the very mention of you in a forecast. Not me. I’ve eagerly listened to the local meteorologists and often check my weather app waiting with bated breath for snow in the forecast – all for the chance to marvel at your beauty while giving my snow boots another walk around town.
Dear snow – please come. Soon. I promise to smile and attempt to whistle while running walking my errands around town. I’m sure lakes, rivers and reservoirs all appreciate their increasing water levels if you should happen to visit.
In eager anticipation,
Are you experiencing a normal winter in your neck of the woods?