A Roof over my Head

When I was a child, I used to be afraid when I went to bed. Because of this, I went to bed with the blankets pretty much completely covering me, with nothing sticking out but my nostrils so that I wouldn't suffocate.

I don't write this out of need to explore my childhood fears, or to talk about neuroses I might have developed, though both of those could possibly be topics for future posts. I am writing this to give at least a partial explanation for this next four word sentence:

I love the snow.

I've wondered before why snow makes me so happy. Most people complain about it, but not me. Well, that's not true. I complain about it to fit in with everyone else. I'll walk into my office at work and say to the secretaries, "Whew! It's cold out there! And nasty and snowy!" And they'll just shake their heads in disgust and agree with me. But I don't really think the weather is nasty. Inside I'm singing: "I love the snow!"

I used to think that it was just because the snow reminded me of Christmas, and that's true, but it's more than that. I like the snow in January and February, too. I used to think that I liked it because, as I've mentioned in earlier posts, I don't like the heat, and the snow means it's cold outside. And that's true, too, but it's still more than that. Not too long ago I decided that a reason I liked the snow was because it meant that when I was inside I was warm and safe, and no matter where I was, I felt like I was where I was supposed to be because I was inside and warm.

And all of that's true, but yesterday afternoon, as I was driving home through a fairly heavy little squall, another idea occurred to me: I like the snow because when it's snowing, the clouds always seem lower to me. I feel like the roof of the world is a little less tall. I think I maybe feel a little like I felt when I was under the covers at night. Safe. Secure.

Unless I'm outside in the blowing snow. That stinks.