Finally: Real Snow - Missoula, Montana

"In all the world
There’s nothing like
The sound of falling snow –

The only noise
I’ve ever known
That makes the clocks move slow.

The only sound

That sweeps away

The din of city streets,

And wraps around,

In soft embrace,

’Most everyone it meets...."

- from White Noise by Barbara Vance

You can read more delightfully candid children's poems here - perfect snowy day activity!
(Bonus treat: Check out Dr. Barbara's  random musings here. With the fatuous 'New Year Resolutions' on the horizon (sorry - have I mentioned I'm a goal-loather?), I was particularly buoyed by her "Productivity Rules" post.  
(Clarification: said loathing applies to the bureaucratic defining of SMART goals, which process bewilderingly grates as French-manicured fingernails on the chalkboard of my otherwise simple life. Enough said; I can't talk about that today!)

Frieze Frame - Wilma Theatre, Missoula, Montana

"You see - the moulded whimsy of a frieze 
on a portico keeps us from recognizing, sometimes, 
the symmetry of the whole... 
but now and then the name of a street,
or a street organ weeping in the twilight,
will remind us in a more vivid and more
truthful way than thought could resurrect
or words convey... 
And in that hour, the soul
will miraculously sense the charm
of past trifles, and we will understand
that in eternity all is eternal..."
-Vladimir Nabokov (1899-1977), The Tragedy of Mister Morn

Nostalgia Slough - Missoula, Montana

Winters of my early years featured a ritualistic layering on of socks and thermals and outerwear and toques and winding and winding and winding of a very looong hand-knitted scarf until only your eyes showed. This allowed you to see what there was to see once you waddled out the door for a long snowy ramble - in below-freezing temps  you welcomed because you'd begun to sweat by the start of all that winding - across fields, around frozen sloughs, and through barbed wire fences thanks to an older sibling who held the strands apart so as not to let your snowsuit get snagged. Good times.

All these years later I realize sending us thus adventuring was a valuable tactic for preserving my mum's sanity while preventing cabin fever amongst her brood - and, of course, with the underlying intent to instill in us a sense of independence and confidence in our own capability. (Yah, that''s what Mum was thinking about by the time she was shooing little Number 7 me out the door into the brilliant Alberta winter sunshine and snow.) Modern patois labels this 'free-range parenting'. In our era, it was commonly called, 'Go outside and play until I call you in for supper'.

The pictured mini melange of grass and ice reminds me of the bunchy grass edging a winter slough. Ah, nostalgia! Days I wouldn't trade. It may not keep your eyelashes from frosting on a day like today, but it sure makes for a toasty heart.

Pipe Dreams - Missoula, Montana

"I doubt I'll ever retire, but if I do, I see myself as the little old Parisian lady pushing her trolley from the supermarket to her apartment. 
Everyone needs a pipe dream." 

- Catherine Martin

Beginning To Look A Lot Like - The Wilma Theatre, Missoula, Montana

"In the old days, it was not called the Holiday Season; the Christians called it 'Christmas' and went to church; the Jews called it 'Hanukkah' and went to synagogue; the atheists went to parties and drank. People passing each other on the street would say 'Merry Christmas!' or 'Happy Hanukkah!' or (to the atheists) 'Look out for the wall!' "

~Dave Barry, "Christmas Shopping: A Survivor's Guide"

Stillness - Missoula, Montana

"I like this day; 
I like that sky of steel; 
I like the sternness and stillness of the world under this frost." 

- Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre