Growing up in southern Illinois made for plenty of opportunities for snow days.
The best thing about winter was getting school days off due to inclement weather. It was like a kid holiday!

I’d wake up at my usual time in the wee hours of the morning. Grandpa would have already been downstairs to put wood in the furnace, but it would still be chilly in the house. I would make a sleepy jog to the bathroom, where my mom always started little portable heater before I got in there. Toasty!

Mom made breakfast in the morning – eggs and toast, glass of milk and a half grapefruit (if they were available). On these snowy mornings, the radio set to WSIU made announcements of school closures. I listened in anticipation and eagerness as the list was announced. The idea of trudging in snowy cold the half mile to the bus stop was not appealing. The joy of hearing my school name spoken through the old speakers set me to dancing in the living-room.

Those snow days were usually filled with snow-ball wars with my neighbor friends and hot chocolate. There was definitely a Rockwellian feeling to those innocent wintry days.

I’m often surprised by the amount of oversight kids have now. When I was a kid, I would tell my mom that I was going over to Tammy’s house or Billy’s house or go play in the woods with our dog, Hoka, and off I’d go to return by dinner time. All that time in-between was mine and mine only. Now, there is no escape from parental eyes – whether it’s a cell phone tether or the addictive Facebook posting of our activities. There is a lack of true ‘aloneness’ these days.

I am lucky to have had these moments in my childhood – from frolicking in the snow, to taking quiet hikes in the woods with only Hoka dog as my companion. My imagination was often a friend with whom I shared these moments with, not the glowing screen of a handheld device.

It snowed in my town yesterday. I woke up to a white covered walkway and street and to the relaxing quiet that only happens after a fresh snowfall. The dogs happily ran around in the powder but came in more quickly than usual. They didn’t clamor for hot chocolate, but the critters did spend ample time lying down in front of the fireplace. Unfortunately, no snow days for me this time. I still look forward to the morning where I’m sipping my coffee and get the notice that work is closed due to inclement weather.

This morning was our first real frost of the season.
As part of my getting ready ritual I ran to my car, turned the defrost on high, then went back into my little house to finish my warm tea. The outdoor cold brings a crisp quiet to the neighborhood, but it’s usually quiet at 6:30am anyway.

Where I work is not in town – it is out off a small highway surrounded by fields and hills. I arrive at work before anyone else. When I park my car and step out, there is usually a moment I pause and look around at the sunrise.This morning the sun was hitting the frosty grasses and trees and making them glisten. The sky was quiet with no birds chattering. I felt isolated and at peace with my surroundings.

These silent wintry mornings are times where I can imagine a post-apocalyptic world with a minimal population and survival of the fittest.
It sparks my imagination and stories run through my head.

I’ve always been an imaginer.
I suppose growing up an only child who moved often would create that as a survival skill.

When I was in my teens, a good friend of mine and I would often go to a field near our small country town and pretend that we were the last people on Earth. Some days we were a team searching for others, other days we were strangers to each other and had to figure out if the other was friendly or not, and then if we wanted to join forces or battle to the death.

Those days were usually warm spring or fall days, where being outside for long periods of time was an enjoyable adventure.
But these wintry mornings spent in solitude often remind of those care-free days running in the fields.