The first real snow of the season arrived overnight. Not too bad to wait until January 19th for such an event. Not too much snow either, maybe just shy of three inches here. But we’ve been in the deep freeze for over a week, and I fished the seasonal affective disorder (SAD) light out of my desk drawer just now to provide some positive rays while I write. January is not my favorite month! With apologies to all the winter enthusiasts out there, I could do without this thirty-one day sojourn.
I am mindful that I risk sounding a bit whimpy in this confession. Yet it’s true. One can appreciate living where there are four distinct seasons, and even see the beauty in a fresh fallen snow; yet still not care for January. I think my distaste for the year’s inaugural month is in part hereditary. My mother always said she was glad to see January move on. For a number of years she and Dad joined the multitude of snow birds who converged on warmer climates January through March. They tried Florida, Texas and Arizona. Maybe someday, though Arizona would be my preference of those options.
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