The mere mention of the words “the time of the year” invokes thoughts of the holiday season. The commercial perception of the three end-of-the-year holidays is now an inherent part of bustling city life and is projected at us from nearly every window, and the season becomes a blurred whirlwind of pumpkins, turkey stuffing, fairy lights, and a ton of candy. With so many old and new traditions involved, there’s a lot to do, a lot of people to think of, and a lot to endure. When our holiday season becomes about compromises and splitting our time between work and more (or less) wanted family time, it’s natural that we come to appreciate, even crave simplicity. Old traditions invoke nostalgia and reminiscence about board game parties, toffee apples, ice skating on the lake, and snowball fights. Snow is always fun when you’re a kid, with makeshift slides, and forgetting you can barely move your frost-kissed digits. I miss snow. Although I moved around a lot, I pretty much remained on the same latitude, yet the increasingly warmer winters and the decreasing amount of snow we get each year are noticeable. I have no intention to make this little rambling into a debate about climate change, I just want some snow.
It’s been almost 5 years ago when I made my last snow angel, marveled at the tree branches in the garden, all heavy with snow, or hung a bird feeder for the robins frequenting the terrasse. I miss the snow and its crunchiness under my feet, I miss the look of the lake when it’s frozen over, I miss the quiet as the heavy snowfall muffles the noises of the city. It’s been a while we had that, and this time of the year probably won’t ever be the same around here. So we either learn to appreciate the rarity and keep remembering the old days fondly or move to Canada for the winter. I suppose that could be fun, too.