Dear Winter, I’m sorry. – Love, Boston

Dear Winter,

First, I’d like to apologize for things said between early December and mid-January. Christmas was 60 degrees and the only thing white about Christmas in 2014 was my unexpectedly-exposed pale skin. I forgot about your immense power. Things were prematurely said about how mild the winter was and everyone talked about spring as the natural followup to Christmas.

I also forgot to check your Outlook Calendar which clearly showed your European vacation planned for the holidays explaining your absence. You booked it months in advance and trusted Fall to make the extra effort to freeze us all. Fall tried, and put an extra effort into freezing us in November. But, it proved too much for Fall and they clocked out on December 21st despite a verbal contract that you told me about (I trust you, really).

The aftermath of storm one, the prequel to the Blizzard of 2015.

But please, you’ve proved your point. The damage you’ve caused so far is reversible; no permanent damage done yet. Backing out of my driveway is a suicide mission with the 10-foot snowbanks. Former 2-way streets now have enough room for a few scooters. These things can all be fixed.

Office water-cooler chatter is supposed to be about American Idol in January and February. We’re supposed to talk about how the dynamics of Harry, J-Lo and Keith is so much better than previous trios. It’s a fresh show again after some missteps in judge-staffing decisions. Instead it’s been reduced to this compulsory exchange:

“Ugh snow”
“I know right. My snow blower broke and I had to shovel it the old-fashioned way”
“I heard 12-18 more inches next week”
“Ugh, where are we gonna put it?”

Why does everyone’s snow-blower break? Is that you or should I take this up with Sears?

But I’m only 3, what do you mean it’s my turn?


It’s only been a few weeks but I miss the small things already. I miss dry mail and predictable trash pick-up schedules. I miss short supermarket lines and the factory-set color of my car. I miss prime-time television without school cancellation notifications. I miss going to a public space and not bringing home the flu. I miss right-turn-only lanes. I miss opening my heating bill without trembling in fear. I miss going outside and seeing oncoming traffic before it hits me.

It occurred to me that you may be a Seattle Seahawks fan. In reviewing Malcolm Butler’s goal-line interception during the Super Bowl, it may have not been fair. He didn’t call it, and it clearly wasn’t thrown to him. It’s just rude and I’m sorry.

No escape.

Seattle weather is 54 degrees today. I’m not asking for that. All I’m asking is for one 46 degree day in the 10 day forecast. In return, besides this apologize, I promise to treat you with respect next winter. I’ll cower in fear and stock up on bread and milk when 6 inches are scheduled to fall. I’ll act frustrated when it takes a few days for those 6 inches to melt. I won’t forget that you have the power to make us all work from home again.

Kind Regards,
(A guy from (near)) Boston

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