Go ahead. Blame me. I deserve it.
As soon as Thanksgiving ended, I started praying for snow. Big fluffy white flakes, in quantity. I blogged my desires, I danced the snow dance. I wanted, wanted, wanted snow, snow, snow.
Now we’re bracing for another storm and I’m googling “Caribbean.”
Oh, snow. So fun and filled with homespun memories. We light the fire, catch snowflakes on our tongues and drink hot chocolate. We bundle up — did I mention low long that takes? — and we shovel. And shovel. We worry about ice on the steps and wedged between paws. Will school be closed? Will the blankets draped over the dining room table still seem magic after the fourth time?
So I sit at my computer, nervously monitoring weather.com. Another 6” inches. And it’s 76 degrees in St. Thomas. I’m just saying.