It was a terribly snowy and cold weekend. No. Wait. That was two weeks ago. No. Wait. It was pretty cold and snowy this weekend too.
This is unpleasant because it is entirely too much like the winters I remember as a small child when we would be bundled into snowsuits that didn't allow your arms to hang comfortably at your sides due to the four layers of clothing under the snowsuit and snow boots that, no matter what you did, would fill with snow instantly upon stepping foot outdoors and knitted woolen mittens to which the snow stuck like burrs and hats and dangerously long scarves. Following this 45 minute procedure, we would be sent outside. To play. All day.
There was a smallish (10 foot) hill beside our house that we would sled down. If we got enough momentum we could make it across the narrow back yard and down the slightly larger hill into the woods behind our house. By afternoon, no matter how much snow had been on the hill, the dip at the base was showing grass, our fingers and toes were frozen, our noses were pink, and we were begging to come back inside.
Eventually, my mother would allow us to return to the warmth of the kitchen. She even sometimes made us cups of cocoa with real milk.
But mostly what I remember is the cold.
This winter is providing too many flashbacks to those cold afternoons with boots full of snow and mittens caked with ice-balls peering in the window at the nice warm TV room.