I love snow. I cry when it snows. Christmas morning when I awoke to find a white winter wonderland outside I cried like a newborn. I dream of snowmen and snow cream.

All my whole life every winter, I start staring out the windows on each and every cold dark day praying for the first flake. As that first flake makes its way to the ground I am hunting for the camera, the boots, the gloves and the earmuffs.

I shoot pictures of every tree and the house from every angle. I get a little excited to say the very least.

So far this winter we have had three snows, one of which was significant. We measured a mere six inches out our way. The least of amounts I heard of from other parts of the county.

That was then and this is now.

I hate snow. I cry when it snows. When I awoke last week to find more snow I cried like a newborn. I think of being stuck in the house for days on end possibly being reduced to eating cold canned soup and stale crackers, trying to find Dear Don by candlelight.

I bundle up to go out and make a snowman and snap a picture to send to Zac so we can share in the moment. But I’m cold, freezing actually and I have to bend over to make the snowballs and then I can’t breathe. I stand erect and take a deep breath and the frigid air nearly paralyzes my throat and lungs. I’ve been outside for less than ten minutes and I’m a choking, freezing, watery-eyed, snotty nosed mess. My toes are numb and my fingers have frost bite. Don’t even ask about my matted wet hair.

Who said this was a great idea anyway?

I trudge back to the house, no snowman in sight. I stand in the doorway and try to undress. I can’t move. I need help getting my boots off and my frostbitten fingers are beginning to burn as the warming blood recirculates. Before I can disrobe I am sweating profusely. It feels as if it’s  100 degrees in the house. It is not.

At this writing we are only a month into actual winter. I don’t know how much more I can stand. I am afraid that pesky groundhog will not (or will) see his shadow therefore thrusting me into another 6 weeks of cold, dark, bleak weather.

So here I sit with my eyes closed. I am day dreaming (night too) about clear blue skies and arid breezes. I am in shorts and barefooted. The sun is soaking deep into my bones. I feel alive. I smell like fresh grated coconut with a little lime tossed in. The water in the pool is cool and as blue and comforting as the sky. My iced tea glass is coated with frosty drops of water making it look even colder than it is. Somewhere I hear Jimmy Buffet music playing.

It is a beautiful daydream.

But alas I open my eyes and here in the real world it is raining and the temperature is dropping. Reports of snow for later are increasing.

Could I have just settled in south Florida perhaps? The Virgin Isles? Maybe Aruba?

You get the picture?

(Contact award-winning columnist Sherry Hopkins at swhcsc@wildblue.net.)