There's No Business Like Snow Business

Underneath my "party girl" veneer is a Snuggie just waiting to bust out. I don't know if it is age or a house I love to be in or a family that does not yet bother me much, but I have grown somewhat resistant to a life outside of my home.

Not yet a hermit, I still must dig deep some nights to leave the house and have me some fun. Thank goodness I dug deep last night.

I suppose it was the late-afternoon bath that saved that last shred of my social life. Had I not cleaned up my act a bit, I certainly would have turned my back on Kari's J.U.G.S. (just us girls) invitation. Herein lies the true magic of the SafeGuard-and-Suave dynamic duo. Why waste clean pits and shiny strands on a family who usually sees me at my worst?

So I went downtown with the girls. Just as the sky finally let loose with all of its promised snows.

And, while I certainly enjoyed the laughs, the beers and the quality quesadillas, it was when we left Marz that I fully realized what a grand idea it had been. There is something indescribably wonderful about facing the elements with friends. Bundling up, layer upon layer, at the behest of snow-covered strangers who meet you at the doorway.

I have not been downtown in a full-blown snowstorm in a long, long time. And, as much of a nature junkie as I am, I can't imagine a better place to take it all in than under the circular glow of a hundred incandescent street lights. Looking up was like floating in deep space, a thousand galaxies rushing toward me, each more stunning than the last. I felt giddy and very, very glad to be alive.

I loved that Jennifer's and my footprints were the only ones to be seen as we happily trudged our way to her car. I let out a "whoop!" of appreciation as we dug out the car, glad to be in the thick of it. The muted silence of a snowstorm is a great backdrop to just about anything, even a night out with the girls.

I had trouble falling asleep last night, making up excuses to pee just a little bit more, each time pulling apart the slats of the bathroom blinds to take in the snowy scene. I woke often, wondering how our landscape had been transformed, imagining new drifts climbing the French doors of our library.

I was not disappointed when I awoke this morning, my world transformed by several inches of snow and a stiff, artistic wind that had left behind dozens of sleek, intricately carved sculptures along the house. I am always conflicted on these mornings, my eyes continually drawn to the untouched snow while my mind worries about the cardinals and chickadees as they peck away at the snow-covered feeder.

The birds always win out and, by 8 a.m., when I figure even the Unitarians have awakened, I don snowboots and coat, good gloves and a headband and begin making paths through the snow. First stop? A path to the birdfeeder, where I scrape off last night's efforts and refill the now empty box with golden heaps of safflower. The birds titter in the wisteria, just inches away, glad to have a cross-species friend like me.

And me? I take it slow shovelful by slow shovelful, our long, narrow driveway an undulating sculpture of snow. I will make paths through this day, but I also will sit back and enjoy those places I have not yet been.