Let it snow?

When I was growing up in Erie, we never talked about snow. What was there to say, after all? It snowed. From November through April it was not the least bit surprising to see tiny white flakes floating down from the perpetually dreary sky. We wore leggings and winter boots for months on end. Our fathers dressed their salted-up vehicles in snow tires and/or chains. We carried bags of sand in the trunk "just in case" we were stuck. And we did learn early on how NOT to get stuck in a snowdrift, and how to get unstuck when we did. School was NEVER cancelled or even delayed. OK, once it was. It must have been Thanksgiving in the early 1950's when a proper blizzard dropped three feet of snow which wasn't cleared in time for the opening bell on Monday. This winter over fifty inches of snow has been reported in Erie. We seem to have "won" the record for greatest snowfall of the season. At least so far. I wonder if the schools were closed this time? Here in Bethesda, outside of Washington, DC, it hardly ever snows, and when it does, it's ugly. The neighborhood kids do their best to fashion snowmen out of the soggy inch or two of snow they find on the still visible grass. Don't even think about making snow angels. The temperature hovers around the freezing mark, just enough to make roads treacherous and snowmen melt. Once in awhile, however, once in awhile, there is a proper snowfall. When the sun finally emerges in the blue sky, and the fresh snow sparkles, I'm brought back to Erie (to Toronto, too, where I once lived). I'm a kid again, throwing snowballs, and rushing down the golf course hill in my toboggan, snow flying all around.