THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1997, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Monday, January 13, 1997 TAG: 9701110061
SECTION: DAILY BREAK PAGE: E1 EDITION: FINAL
TYPE: Column
SOURCE: Larry Maddry
LENGTH: 77 lines
SO THERE I was with fire logs stacked by the fireplace at the ready, a brandy snifter sparkling on the kitchen counter, new bulbs on the patio for watching the flakes twirling past the living room windows.
And what did we get when Thursday was over? Nothing but rain . . . rain . .
Umbrella over my head, I slogged through the puddles in the parking lot Thursday toward the newspaper building.
As I reached the door, a woman with a parka over her head greeted me with a smile.
``Well, at least we didn't get snow,'' she chirped. ``That's what I like about the South.''
Who sez?
In my book, the scarcity of snow in the South is about the only complaint I have about our region. As you can tell, I came out of the closet and pronounced myself a snow lover years ago. It's amazing how many true snow lovers are afraid to say so in public.
Why is that?
As I sit writing this, my favorite Christmas card from 1996 - from the Muscarelle Museum of Art at the College of William and Mary - sits near my keyboard.
On the front of the card is a lovely rendering of skeletal trees whose dark limbs are traced with snow as the museum broods in the distance, softened by the flakes falling like particles of bleached flour from a giant sifter. Nice.
Usedta be a hypocrite on the snow issue, yah know. A snow hater would come up to me after snow had been predicted on The Weather Channel and say, ``Did you hear about the awful mess that's coming our way?''
And I'd lie. Really. I'd shake my head, making clucking noises as though snow was as contemptible as taxes or Newt Gingrich.
No more. And I'll tell you what. Coming out of the closet on this snow issue is . . . well, liberating. It has also caused a lot of self-examination. I realized I have gone beyond liking snow or loving snow. I am a snowaholic.
I spend hours watching The Weather Channel, jaw agape as a distant weather system promising snow seems to head in our direction. And I've found myself using body English the way a golfer directs a putt, hoping to push a snow front our way.
Like to read about it, too. About billowy clouds that drift across the western mountains and empty tons of whiteness ``upon the desert's dusty face.''
And look at photos of the snow from around the country, transmitted by the wire services, showing the incredible transformations wrought by what Ralph Waldo Emerson dubbed ``the frolic architecture of the snow.''
And I enjoy snow memories from the past. I suppose the most memorable snowfall I recall was the one that dropped 6 inches onto the Grand Canyon one evening, making the approach to the lodge there dangerous but exciting. Next morning over pancakes at the lodge restaurant, I directed my gaze past the fresh, red rose in a vase on the white tablecloth through the frosty picture window. The canyon resembled a devil's food cake topped with a thick white frosting that had been carved by a knife in God's hand.
The difference between the snow lover and the snowaholic like me is significant. The snow lover longs for a couple of inches of snow and children building snow men and snow sculptures all over town.
Not me. I say bring back another blizzard like the one in 1980. You know, 5-foot drifts, wind howling like a wolf, with whiteouts and predictions of more snow on the way.
I'm serious. Just snow, snow, snow, that's all I want. And let us hear no nonsense from snow haters about considering the poor or threats to public safety.
As a minister once said to a tennis opponent who complained about the rain spoiling their game: I'm in public relations not production.
Bring it on, I say, and the deeper the better. ILLUSTRATION: Muscarelle Museum of Art
COLD COMFORT: At right Larry Maddry's favorite Christmas card from
1996.