In Which Amy Watches Early March Snow Accumulate

Oh, hello, snow. Welcome back.

For weeks, the dirty, late January-into-February snow has been melting. It's been glorious. The giant mound of snow at the end of my driveway that blocks my view of oncoming traffic has gotten a little smaller. Not small enough that I can see over or around it and notice if a giant oil truck is barrelling towards me or not, but smaller. I could see the ground. Of course, "ground" could be more aptly described as "over the ankle, shoe-grabbing, slimy muck," but I could still see it.

Winter here in MOFN takes forever to end. It seems to come earlier and earlier every year (this year, I'm convinced it started in October) and ends later and later every year. With the amount of snow we've gotten this winter, it'll be July before I can put on a tank top and complain about it being too hot. It would be one thing if I lived somewhere that's beautiful during the winter (Colorado, Switzerland, etc), but that isn't the case, so I make due.

Yes, by "making due," I really do mean "bitch and complain until I'm blue in the face," but I digress.

So, over the past few days, Lizzie and I have been watching the snow melt and talking about getting to go to the park. I'd been thinking about letting Lizzie run wild through Mom's backyard. I'd starting making all the lists of the day trips I was going to insist on.

First one? To The Windmill in Penn Yan, NY, quite possibly the awesomest outdoor/indoor shopping mall/flea market around. The food alone is worth the drive.

It was 57 degrees here on Saturday when I came back from running errands. We opened all the windows and let out some of the stale air, germs, and bad juju that builds up when three people are trapped in a small space for a prolonged period of time.

Then last night that evil witch Mother Nature decided to frig up The Coming of Spring (yeah, it deserves to be capitalized) by dumping over a foot of snow all over us. I watched it come down and wanted to weep. Where was my muddy, mucky ground going? What happened to my 57 degree day with open windows? And where the hell did my car disappear to? Oh, right, it's under that FOOT OF SNOW.

Thanks again, snow. Thanks for killing my dreams of putting away the scarves and gloves. Thanks for killing my dreams of opening the windows to let in the roar of traffic past the front of the house. Thanks for killing my dreams of eating my way up and down the paths of The Windmill.

Now, who wants to help me dig my car out?