Love it when big, fuzzy flakes are falling outside the window and a strange hush falls over the world.
Hate it when it takes six hours to drive home from Thanksgiving, much of it stuck behind cars with drivers who donít seem acquainted with the laws of physics and do things like slow down when theyíre going up hills.
Love it when Iím the first one to leave footprints in a field of virgin snow and it squeaks under my boots.
Hate it when it takes twice as long to walk downtown because every sidewalk has been tramped down into a sheet of pure ice, and every step is a potentially painful argument between me and gravity.
Love it when itís fresh and white and clean and fluffy and sparkly and the whole world looks like itís covered in dessert topping and diamonds.
Hate it when itís old and crusty and slushy and slick and dirty.
Love it when all normal routine stops and everyone plays like a little kid in the snow because thereís really nothing else to do.
Hate it when everything is closed, and all normal routine is difficult, dangerous, and cold.
Love it because itís so novel and exciting, and everything looks different in the snow, mysterious, magical.
Hate it when it stops being an exciting novelty. Iím gonna say, three days. This is day three. Tomorrow, Iím gonna start to hate it.