It’s snowing outside.
There was a time, when I was little, when I thought that snowing was finished by the end of January. My logic (I’ll get to that in a second), though flawed, made perfect sense to my kindergarten mind. See, think about calendars. More specifically, think about the calendar motifs used around little kids. October? Pumpkins and jack-o-lanterns. November? Turkeys. December? Christmas trees and Santa Claus. January? Snowmen. February? Hearts. March? Shamrocks. April? Showers (for those May flowers, of course). Do you see? The only month that is devoted to snow is January. I expected snow before that, too, though. I’d heard White Christmas enough to know that I could expect snow then, too. But after January, the calendar focused on holidays that don’t necessarily have snow associated with them. Hearts! Shamrocks! Umbrellas! Fun! It only took 4 or 5 years of miserably snowy Valentine’s Days for me to realize that the calenders were not telling the whole truth. Oh! The dastardly things, leading me to think that January was the end of winter!
(Um, okay Lisbeth, so what?)
So, even though I know now that the end of January != end of snow, I do know that usually by March it’s more or less gone. And I know that since April was always the month that highlighted umbrellas, a rainy day (or week, whatever) is bound to occur. And, I even know logically that if there’s rain on a particularly cold day, the possiblity of the rain morphing into snow is not impossible. And yet.
Today is April 14th. There is snow on the ground. And I’m wondering where I can go to lodge my complaint.