I’ve always thought of snow as nature’s personal gift to me. Even when I had pneumonia in college, I couldn’t help but put on my down parka and cross the Charles to watch my elegant friend lace the trees and line the walks of Harvard Business School in crisp, clean white. Of course I shouldn’t have gone. I had to rest nearly an hour on a bench before I could make it back. This is what Russian literature does to you. I’m not saying I would die for beauty, but nearly to die for it, well why not?
This morning I was making a mental list of the myriad issues I need to fix in my yard. Everything I saw irritated me. But in one short hour, the most beautiful storm of the year has quietly covered every flaw as I, like Frost, contentedly watched my woods fill up with snow.
Suddenly a pair of Darth Vader underwear flies through the air and alights on my shoulder like a falcon.
Peppers: I threw my underpants on your shoulder, and you laugh!
Me: That’s right, little boy. Thank you so much for pooping in the potty all by yourself!
Peppers: Oh, Mommy. You’re so sweet.
Me: You’re my honey.
Peppers: You’re my honey, either. Momma. Momma. Mommy. Momma.
This little victory has been so hard-fought. I’m laughing but there is a lump in my throat, too. And to cap off my moment of triumph, the snow has come to show me with her easy perfection how beautiful my world can be.
Me: SALTY! Take those panties off, and put your own underwear back on! You may not steal your sister’s underpants. If you have no accidents this whole week, maybe I’ll buy you your own princess underpants.