Snow brings back old memories, lessons

I don't do winter. I hate the cold, and the older I get the less I like it. I've never really been used to winter, and I don't plan to start getting used to it now.

That's one of the reasons I call the South Carolina Lowcountry home. But in my nearly 15 years here, I'm seeing a first. As I write this, snow blankets the ground.

Insane.

Again, I hear all of y'all Up North laughing. Accumulation in my front yard is probably about two inches; in most of the country that's nothing.

I define my life into three main periods, all set apart by geographical location. I spent my first 30 years in southern California, and in all that time I saw this kind of snow twice. If I wanted to see snow, all I had to do was look out my window at the San Bernardino Mountains, where there was plenty to be had. I spent five years in Arizona, and now here.

I did spend a couple of years in Indiana, a couple of years in Tennessee, and a year in the North Carolina hills, so yeah, I know all I need to know about winter. Cold. Uncomfortable. Terrible to drive in.

But pretty, and kind of fun.

I had dinner with a few friends last night, and we hung out inside while the snow fell. I went outside for a couple of minutes and promptly skidded, almost on my butt. I forgot that snow gets slippery. Barbara and her daughter, Elizabeth, both made snow angels while Derek (another expatriate Californian) and I shook our heads at the weirdness of it all.

At home, the front yard is covered. My third-world trailer park never looked better; it's like looking at a black-and-white photograph. My 15-year-old dog is as wonderstruck as I, and for a couple of minutes the arthritic old girl was a puppy again. Snow, she figured, is edible as long as it's not yellow.

A few snow things came back fairly quickly:

• The going-back-indoors two-step, where you stomp each foot, then bang your feet together twice. Especially important when your shoes have a deep tread (such as my Timberland boots). Snow belongs outside, not inside.

• It's not so much the sound of snow crunching underfoot, but the feel. There's nothing quite like it.

• Driving is rough. I bummed a ride home with Derek, and we swapped wisdom on the subject. Where you put your wheels is really kind of important; even more so than "high-siding" your tires on mountain roads. I remembered my first forays driving in snow (at age 37), when I learned that a Camaro with automatic transmission doesn't handle well under such conditions.

• Memories of my first snowman, sculpted on Mount Charleston, a few miles from Las Vegas. It was anatomically correct.

• Snow isn't for adults. Like Santa Claus or Trix cereal, it's something that was invented especially for kids. That's OK. For the night I became a 50-ish kid.

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