Last week I reached two new and exciting milestones, with one being as a direct result of the other. My iPhone gave me a heads up for the first milestone a few days before, however I was sceptical in my iPhone’s forecasting. As I have previously noted, the iPhone relies on Yahoo for her information, which hasn’t been used by anyone else since 1998.
Like usual, the iPhone teased. It told me the momentous occasion would occur on the coming Sunday. And so I waited and waited, but nothing. Naddah. Niete. Forgghedaboudit!
It was disappointing, but I was not heart-broken and I went to bed dreaming of what could have been.
The next day, I went to work and sat quietly at my desk, with my head in my hands, thinking about the wonder and glory that I just knew would befall upon me soon. It might not have happened when it was supposed to, but it was destined to occur in the not too distant future.
And not too distant indeed…
In the late afternoon I swiveled around, willing myself to launch out of my chair to go and get another morning cup. As I turned I caught a glimmer in my eye: a white flake, dancing gracefully by the window.
“Oh. My. Gooooo….”
I tried to control my excitement. Had I been mistaken? Was it a feather? A lost bug? Or tiny piece of London dust? More delicate, dusty white specks followed, floating. I was not mistaken.
And it was at this moment that I knew this was the day I would finally lose my snow virginity. I must note that this was not actually the first time I had seen snow. In the summer of 2008 and visited the peaks of the Swiss Alps. It was amazing, for someone who had never seen snow. However, it felt like cheating being up at a high peak. After all, the sun was shining and the snow wasn’t actually falling. There were no powder soft fields, just weeks old snow: thick, compact and icy.
So while I had played with snow before, last Monday was the first time I had seen REAL FALLING SNOW. All thoughts about coffee vanquished as I was now overwhelmed by this unseasonably affected high. My mouth widened and my cheeks burned pink with giddy glee. I glued my face to the window and watched the snow dance around Saint Paul’s. And tt was at this point that I reached my second milestone of the week: I surpassed my ordinarily high level of cuteness to the degree of epic adoreableness.
You see, I work in a room with six other attorneys from around the globe. Two Americans, one Brit, one Italian, one Dutchmen and a fellow expat Aussie who has lived in London for six years. Compared to me, they are all seasoned snow dogs so for them, the first pitter-pattering of snow flakes was just another cold January day. However, they couldn’t escape my temperament. I was like a curious puppy that had been given a new toy. Or Kevin McCallister when he realised that he was home alone. My excitement was inescapable and utterly infectious. Everyone could help but scratch my belly and speak to me with baby talk. Metaphorically of course…
Questions that are apparently ridiculous(ly cute):
Hey look! Some patches are falling left and others are falling right! Why is the snow fall in different directions?!
Does falling snow taste different to ground snow?
What do you mean the snow isn’t sticking? Since when is snow sticky?
Did you know that there is a risk that snow will turn to ice after sunset?!
Unfortunately, there was only a light fall on Monday and the snow did not stick (for you snow virgins, this means that the snow melted rather than “sticking” to the ground and staying there). So doing a few Mary Tyler Moore spins and catching a few flakes on my tongue, I went back to the office and called it a wonderful day. A few days went by and I had nothing but my memories. During this time, I relived my fun over and over in my head, like a sitcom clip show. And then on Friday the snow came back, and she got heavy.
London turns into a completely different place when it snows. It’s like the authorities can’t handle it and anarchy takes over. The heating cranked up. Workers go home early. Trains stop running. Children wander the streets. Fights break out. Well, snow fights anyway.
During the weekend, I also managed to carve out an obligatory snow angel and JD, Ben and I made a short attempt to make a snow wolf (because snowmen as so twentieth century), until we realised we had no idea what we were doing and started throwing the wolf’s legs at each other.
Over the course of the weekend, I managed to become embroiled in three snow fights. One was with JD and our flat mate Ben. One was with three random adults who decided to throw a snow ball at me on the way home. And the last was with a precocious nine-year old girl in a park who deserved it. And I got her good. But then her thirteen-year old brother, her mother and her father decided to join in against us. Her father’s snowballs hurrrrrrt.
Everyone assured me that I would get sick of the snow after a day, but I just want more, more, more. I love the feeling of the snow hitting my face. I love the powder soft texture of the newly laid snow. I love the challenge of traversing the icy paths when I walk to work early in the morning. I love the way snow sticks to leaves. I love the magical glow of the heavenly white city, like a paradise in the clouds.
Snow is glorious and I cannot wait until I get to play in it again. Until then, I’ll dream a little dream…