For the third time this week, winter weather has hit the area. We’ve already had more snow in Philadelphia than we had all of last winter, and it’s not even actually winter yet.
Even in mild winters, where the total accumulation doesn’t even reach a foot, there are mornings where you have to shovel a little and clean off your car thanks to a dusting or an inch that came overnight. By the third or fourth time – sooner if we have bigger snows – even I get to the point where I consider moving to San Diego and never seeing another snowflake as long as I live. I know people who live in various places across the country, and seeing the pictures on Facebook or Twitter or Instagram of them in light jackets while they attend a football game makes things just that much worse. “Aw, your team lost? YOU WILL NEVER KNOW THE PAIN OF WINTER!” I yell, while shaking my fist at the computer screen.
Tonight, after clearing up the snow/ice/slush/rain (yes, I pushed a couple shovelfuls of nothing but water across the sidewalk), I began to have those thoughts. However, like I said before, it’s weather like this that gets me into the Christmas spirit more than anything, and that just wouldn’t happen in other parts of the country. Had it been mid-January, I might be on the next flight west, but since it’s Christmastime, I let it go.
And the truth is, I always will let it go. I’m a Northeast guy, hardened by cold and messy winters. Granted, there are places where it’s much worse, and the shoveling/car cleaning routine can be a daily as opposed to a weekly ritual, but the weather here can be plenty nasty. But I can’t imagine going through one winter, let alone many winters, without seeing the first flakes of a new storm blowing around, or waking up to see the whole neighborhood covered in snow.
I’m sure it’s great to live in California or Texas or Florida. But it’s not for me. And I’m okay with that.