Winter is my favorite season. At least I think it is. It has been 12 years since I have been through a snot-freezing cold winter (that's when it's so cold that when you breath through your nose the inside of your nostrils stick together. That only happened to me? Moving on...).
Before the age of nine I only remember living in warm Mediteranean type climates (due to a military upbringing). To me snow was exotic and magical. I used to sit in front of a fan powered on high, wrapped in a blanket, pretending to be an Eskimo. To us, 50 degrees meant it was time to pull out our heavy coats.
Then we moved to Michigan. I remember being so excited about moving to Michigan. Michigan was in the US! It was in the North! It was January! I imagined pure white blankets of snow piled here and there in drifts, coating tree branches and the roofs of houses straight out of some crappy Thomas Kinkade painting (no, it's not too soon). Children would be making snow men and snow forts, and there would be sledding and ice skating. This was me thinking of Michigan in winter:
We get off the plane and what do I see? Jack-squat. That's what. There wasn't a lick of snow on the ground. I WAS HEATED.
It did eventually snow, and my poor brother found out what happens if you lick cold metal. We did go sledding (on flattened cardboard boxes), and built snowmen and had snowball fights. We "skated" on frozed puddles in parking lots. Oh, and after a couple of years the first day of 50 degree weather was "let's pull out the shorts" weather. Ahh memories....