I thought back over a lifetime of winters yesterday. As a little girl, I remember building snowmen in Manhattan that quickly turned gray with soot, so that wasn’t much fun. Our time in Atlanta was notable for the ice storms that downed power lines and made travel impossible for days on end. Our one year in Boston was (surprise) freezing and snowy, but by then I was much too old to go sledding, so it was more a nuisance than a thrill.
|Aiden's Daddy and Uncle Evan Winter 1987|
It was not till my kids were little that I found any happiness in winter. All five of them loved bundling up and heading outdoors after a snowfall. While I still didn’t enjoy cold weather at all, I definitely enjoyed their enjoyment of it. The years went by; I bought larger and larger snow pants and boots for my brood. One by one, they outgrew snowball fights and snow forts, and then suddenly I was worrying about their safety as my new drivers first navigated slippery roads, heading to school or work.
There was a lull in our wintertime fun, and then along came Aiden. He adores being outside, in any weather. Yesterday was magical for my 20 month old grandson. He tried to catch snowflakes in his mittened hands, laughing, and “helped” Grandpa shovel. He didn’t stay out long as it was too windy and cold, so it was soon in for dry clothes and hot soup. But next year he will be ready to go down the big hill in the neighborhood, and play in the snow with his little buddies.
|Aiden helping Grandpa clean off the car|
They say the Inuit people of Northern Canada and Alaska have 50 words for snow in their vocabulary. Aiden doesn’t even have one yet, but if he did, it would have to convey his awesome experience of a glistening white and quiet and beautiful Oreland. So, as I gaze out the window at the morning sunlight sparkling on the drifts, let me remember to look at the world through Aiden’s eyes. May I find a new word for winter, and learn to love whatever season of my life I am in.