Last night as I went to rehearsal for an upcoming performance of “Willie Wonka,” the temperature was around 53 degrees. A little rain fell during the day so the roads were wet, but it felt almost tropical for Minnesota. During the short few hours, snow started falling and the rain turned to ice. Brisk winds picked up. On the ride home, I could see the precipitation falling. It covered the remnants of autumn and cloaked the mulch with a starry like fantasy glow. Snow has a way of covering up the ugliness of life – even when it’s only temporary.
As a child, I remember running outside after the first snowfall and laying down in it. Arms and legs flailed up and down as I made fantastic snow angels. Then we’d pack the snow and roll it across the expanse of what used to be our lawn, and made a snowman. Snowball fights would follow and then creating a snow fort.
When you’re a child, the memories of past snowfalls are filled with fun and excitement. When you’re an adult and your body is basically falling apart, snow is anything but fun. It means getting out the shovel or snow blower – letting that brisk air freeze-dry your already wrinkled skin – feeling every bone in your body aching and screaming for relief. Not to mention driving icy roads and praying you’ll make it safely to your destination.
Somewhere between adolescence and adulthood, we lose the joy that involves snow. It’s really sad, but unfortunately we must face the responsibility of growing up. Still wouldn’t it be fun to run outside and make snow angels again? So what if I’m 75. I might just do it! Well, I could do it if I wanted to, but what happens if I can’t get up. I’d be stuck in the icy mass for six months – frozen in time – a giant ice block with eyes. Maybe I’ll just put that on my bucket list.