It happened. The first snowfall of the season.
I dawned on me yesterday morning, at exactly 7:13 a.m.
I was still lying in bed, swaddled in my cocoon of cheap bedding. I prefer to keep my blinds up, so that I can wake up every morning to the natural light of a new day. Screw alarm clocks. They’re so 2008.
I opened my eyes, blinking my way past the eye boogers. There was light cascading into the room, but something was different. It was a greyish tone. Dim. Ominous. I peered towards my window and noticed the sky was painted a wash of silver.
And there was movement.
Rain? No, too slow for rain.
Dammit! Where were my glasses?
There they were!
Ah, yes, would you look at that. It’s dumping out there!
The flakes of snow were positively voluptuous. Each one appeared to strut down from the sky, shaking its hips as if to say “That’s right, work it, WORK it!” These flakes wore apple bottom jeans. These were my kind of flakes.
I laid in bed for a while and observed the silent chaos. There was no wind, no sign of atmospheric struggle. Just the gentle, consistent downward flutter of white flecks. Or were they globs?
Ok, let’s just settle on God’s dandruff and move on.
As I watched God’s dandruff drift through the sky, my mind meandered from this snowfall to my Toyota Camry to shoveling duties to the coffee pot in the kitchen, ultimately settling on a memory of my very first snowfall in Tahoe.
It took place about a month after I moved here, seven years ago. Or maybe it was eight years ago.
Gah. I’ve lost track…
But it happened on a Christmas day.
I had just woken up to get dressed for my first job in Tahoe as a cocktail waitress at Cal Base lodge at Heavenly. I was living in a tiny three bedroom house on Larch and Pioneer. It wasn’t the most exotic of homes, but a definite score given I found it within a week of moving here.
It was better than the lean-to I was willing to live under in exchange of being able to call Lake Tahoe ‘home’.
I recall stepping out into my living room, glancing out the large single-pane window that overlooked our front yard, which also happened to be our driveway (like I mentioned, not the most exotic house).
My heart soared at the vision of white. White, white, everything was WHITE!
Maybe too white…
Something was wrong here.
I squinted. My heart rate quickened. I squinted harder. A bead of sweat formed on my brow.
Then I yelped “Holy shit, someone stole my car!”
Of course, once I dashed back into my room to retrieve my glasses I quickly realized that my silver Camry was, indeed, completely blanketed in snow.
And that marked the first time I’ve ever had to ‘swim’ out to my car.
It’s been years since I’ve been graced by a dump that’s forced a game of vehicular hide-and-seek on me.
As I laid in bed yesterday morning watching God’s dandruff pillow up on the pine trees, I felt something strange. Something vaguely familiar, almost unrecognizable.
Two old friends I haven’t bothered to visit in years, not since my heart’s hardened from the constant disappointment of having to hear “Oh, this season for SURE!” without any follow through.
Hope? Is that you?
And dare I say…excitement?
I’ve yet to fully admit it, even to myself. But I think they paid me a visit. At some point, yesterday morning, while watching God’s dandruff fall from the sky.