When Chekhov saw the long winter, he saw a winter bleak and dark and bereft of hope

This morning I went downtown to Fado to watch the Arsenal youngsters take on mighty Chelsea in the Carling Cup final. Unfortunately the kids lost the match 2-1, but showed what a bright future the Gunners have. On my way to the Metro at 9:00 am, it was sleeting a bit, but the temperature was around 35, and weather.com said that the ice would change to just rain for the rest of the day. Needless to say, I wasn’t too worried about the weather. Around halftime of the game I noticed that it was snowing pretty heavily outside – this was not what they predicted! Unfortunately the snow caused the satellite dish at the bar to fritz out, and we spent 15 minutes with no signal while someone on the kitchen staff went running outside with a broom. The satellite feed came back, but I guess the snow kept coming, as we missed the last 10 minutes of the game with the signal gone. (And what an ending! A fight, 3 red cards, and both managers on the pitch trying to restore order. Thanks, Fado, for having a crap dish.) So by the time I got back to Twinbrook there was about 3-5 inches on the ground. (Mind you, this was only after 3 hours or so.) Anyway, Sage didn’t want to take the car out to pick me up (I don’t blame her…our Hybrid’s tires need to be changed and our neighborhood’s roads are always horrible), so I had to hoof it home. As I’m walking back to the house (I mean, it’s only a 12 minute walk, it’s not like she made me hike home from Alexandria), a weird feeling came over me: the snow looked really pretty to me. If you know anything about me, you’ll know I hate the cold. I don’t mind snow when I go up to New Hampshire; there, it makes sense. (And as long as I don’t have to live there, I’m all for them getting hammered with blizzards.) Here, it’s nothing but headaches and annoyances. But today was different: all the white stuck to the trees, the big flakes falling in silence all around me, even the smell of burning pine wafting from someone’s chimney; it all reminded me of my younger days during the winter. I would spend the shortened sunlight sledding in the fields, or playing pick-up hockey on the pond; building snow forts and having big snowball fights; all the time wishing and hoping school would be cancelled the next day. Cold cheeks would be warmed with hot chocolate, and the damp clothes and boots would be placed next to the heater or wood stove to dry off for the next day’s adventures.

And then I got home, saw the driveway and sidewalks I’d have to shovel, and all that nostalgia went away. I thought the groundhog said no more winter? Just like the idiot meteorologists who said we’d get nothing but rain today, even Punxsutawney Phil can’t predict anything right.