Snowfall and Memory

I could feel the chill in the air without even needing to look out the window. The heat was off to save money; god knows I needed to squeeze every last drop out of my energy bills. With my trusty red and black plaid pajama bottoms and thrash metal t-shirt I was ready to spend the entire morning doing absolutely nothing.

I paused in the kitchen to look out at the yard. Snow was falling rapidly, the sky overcast and already a blanket of white covering nearly every surface. It reminded me of my school days from insignificant 4th grade to the definitive senior year of high school. Waking up at the godawful hour of 5 am when it was still dark outside so I wouldn't miss the bus, seeing the snowfall illuminated in the street light and filling me with an overwhelming sense of hope: that school would be cancelled and I could have an entire day to myself.

There was nothing quite like the despair of learning your school was still open when all logic would dictate it should be a snow day.

Now, it was just a curiosity, and a little bit of an annoyance; I'm already thinking of how long it's going to take to dig my car out of the snow and how long it'll take to heat up the windshield before I eventually, relcutantly, go to work. Maybe the boss would tell everyone to stay home; some hopes never change.

This close to Christmas got me thinking of the past. Snowfall during the days leading up to Christmas at my old home, the ridiculously large 80's era stereo we owned (it had a cutting edge cd changer!) playing our favorite Christmas tracks like Deck the Halls by the sweet vintage synth of Mannheim Steamroller, or Paul McCartney's Simply Having a Wonderful Christmas Time. Nothing could top Trans Siberian Orchestra's blisteringly powerful guitar work though.

The lights dim, the lights on the tree offering the only source of illumination. It made our old house feel even cozier, like the Christmas Tree was an extra special figurehead. Sometimes for Christmas we'd take the drive over to grandma's house, other times we'd just stay at home. As much as I liked grandma, spending a Christmas at home was always something special. Just me, my brother, and mom - opening a present on Christmas Eve as was tradition, saving the rest for Christmas Day.

Hot chocolate or homemade sugar cookies were the order of the day. Staring outside at the snowfall I realized I never could find out what mom's particular recipe for those sugar cookies was; I knew sour cream was somehow involved but that particular knowledge may be lost forever. Here, in the present, rousted out of my reminisce of the past, the weight of what I could never get back suddenly struck me. This wasn't unusual; when you lose someone in your life, certain things trigger memories whether you want them to or not. Neither good nor bad, I suspected it was just part of life.

Snowfall meant Christmas, and sometimes Christmas meant dealing with events you never wanted to deal with in your life. Sitting in church as the pastor passionately spoke of the passing of your mom to the congregation, as you sat in your best clothes feeling all manner of sympathetic eyes directly on you. Unable to escape their gaze. Wishing you could just grieve in private.

Sometimes, Christmas meant taking your family pets to the animal shelter one by one because you were just a poor college student unable to take them in yourself, having no choice but to surrender them to the state, hoping that they would be adopted by someone else. Sometimes, Christmas meant sitting in your car bawling your eyes out, while still trying to juggle the obligations of the present.

I shook my head, bringing myself back to the present. The snow came down in sheets of snowflakes, silent yet rapid, the entire ground a carpet of almost eye-searing white. Snow blindness was a thing, wasn't it? At least the sun wasn't out. Snow seemed to be more enchanting when it was overcast, I couldn't explain why. When it was sunny and snowing, it just felt like a pain in the ass.

Mom has been gone for a decade now. More than that, in fact. Brother hasn't said a word to you in years, and probably never will. Maybe that was for the best; it let us discover ourselves without being tethered to one another. I fired up my espresso machine for a quick hit of caffeine; I paid a hundred bucks for the damn thing so I might as well make use of it. For whatever reason, I was still hooked on that damn sugar cookie recipe. Would I ever discover it? It felt like a lost city of gold I was pursuing. If I could make those soft, yet firm shaped cookies of my childhood, then I'd have everything figured out.

The toaster prepared my bagel while I sipped espresso while watching the flakes fall. Maybe I should text the boss and tell him the roads were too bad. It wasn't like I missed work a lot. I showed up, did my job, clocked out - rinse and repeat for the past three years. Could throw a blanket over me while I caught up on shows or played some games.

Snow falling, always reminded me of the past. Maybe that's just how the human brain was wired. Dreaming of events that we could never repeat, reminding ourselves of what we've lost to time. I knew, intellectually, I couldn't get rid of these memories. It was just part of life. As I stood there, watching the blanket of white grow, I thought of the future instead. Maybe one day, I'd find someone and recreate my own memories. Blast some Mannheim Steamroller while my family and I used old school cookie cutters to make shapes in the cookie dough.

One day. I sat on my couch and turned on the tv; maybe it was time for a little snow day after all.