It is really cold. We’re at 26°, the high for the day. Yesterday, the snow melted then, last night, it froze. In places it looks like waves, ice waves cresting on the lawn. The rest of the grass is covered in frozen snow. My feet made crunchy sounds when I got the paper. I was most careful walking across the yard. Everything is slippery. The dogs and I have had enough of out so we are snuggling together on the couch. Every now and then Henry sighs.

When I was a kid, January was the most boring month. We had no holidays off from school, and, I swear, every day was bone chillingly cold, well below freezing. It always took a while to get warm once I arrived at school. My cheeks stayed red and my feet stayed cold. I remember my classroom and all of the winter sounds, the hissing radiators below the windows, the gurgle of water through the pipes, the scratching of pencils on paper, creaking chairs and pages turning. I remember hoping, maybe even praying, that we wouldn’t have outside recess.

A long while back, I passed a schoolyard where the kids were at recess. I paused to look, prompting memories of my own. Every recess, we stood in the divided geographically by sex and tradition school yard, the girls on one side, the boys on the other. The girls had their groups and games and the boys had theirs. Girls jump roped, mostly the younger girls, or played clapping games. The older girls stood in groups and boy watched and maybe gossiped a little. The boys played basketball at both hoops in the school yard. I don’t remember jump roping.

I do have one recess story. I remember standing in a group of girls talking, laughing when I was in the fifth grade then I noticed my friend. She hadn’t made it to the safety of the group and was being bullied by a boy saying horrible things to her and making her cry. I told him to stop. He didn’t. How silly! I punched him in the face. He stopped. I ended up in the principal’s office. Once she found out the story, she told me not to do it again and to find a peaceful way to protect my friend. She let the bully have it. I really wanted to applaud.

Last night it snowed, nothing appreciable, just a light cover on the lawn and the driveway. All of it is melting. On the deck, the dogs’ paws pressed right down to the wood through the wet snow when they first went outside. I was surprised. I thought the snow was more substantial. The snow will be gone from there soon. I have no reason to leave the house so the snow on the car will be left to Mother Nature’s devices.

I got to thinking about the snow as I watched it falling last night. When I was a kid, I could watch out the picture window at the snow as it fell. My favorite time to watch was at night when the falling snow was lit by the street lamp on the corner below my house. I remember when the wind was so strong the snow was whipped sideways.

I think snow is the most hopeful weather. When I was a kid, I remember how on snowy mornings we’d all be waiting and hoping to hear the no school alarm from the fire station. When we did, we’d settle back in front of the TV and laze a bit. In the afternoon, I’d get dressed in layers, slip my boot tops over the bottom of my ski pants, put on a sweater under my jacket, wear a knit hat stretched enough to cover my ears and on my hands, mittens, sometimes they even matched, and I’d go outside.

The snow looked magical. I could see the magic, and I could feel the magic. No footprints in front of us marred the surface twinkling in the sun. We would be the first. The snow covered the trees, the bushes and the cars but left their shapes sharp enough to notice. We’d run and jump in the snow. We’d leave snow angels. We’d toss snow balls, maybe go sledding or maybe build a fort. The possibilities seemed endless, hopeful, even joyful. That is what I first remember about the snow. We stayed outside until our cheeks were red raw from the cold. My mother made us hot chocolate. I let the steam warm my face and the cup warm my hands. I was exhausted, not grumpy exhausted but happily exhausted from a day in the snow.

As soon as the snow started, I’d move to the picture window so I could keep track of the snow, to how much was falling. My fingers were crossed. I was wishing and hoping. I did every time it snowed. I wished for more, never less.

Last night I checked the snow under the back light as it was falling. I wanted to keep track of how much. I even heard the plow. I have almost the same memories from when I was a kid when I loved everything about snow starting from the light shining on the snowflakes. The more there was of it, the more hopeful we were. I watched last night. This morning, not so much snow on the ground.