And here we are in the midst of another snowstorm – finally. It’s Sunday and I am so excited to think snow is coming, after a couple of recent disappointments.

At last, the forecasters predicted the “Big Storm” for a few days, but when they posted the map, even on Sunday, it appeared as if we were, again, in the wimpy, pink zone. That rain-snow mix that can’t make up its mind.

I don’t want rain, now. Not even a mix. I want the white, fluffy stuff that puts a dress on the bleak, bare arms of the trees around my house. And it should stick around for a few days. It looks good.

But where we live there are very few lingering snows like our neighbors to the north can count on. So this weekend’s snowfall won’t last long enough to suit me.

The temp goes up and the snow goes down. And the forecasters said it will do that all night, Sunday into Monday.

I remember the deep snow days when I was a kid and I remember deep snow when my children were young and they could take their sleds and tubes and cardboard and skim down the hill near our house for a few days, at least.

But when I was growing up we also had real blizzards, depositing so much snow you could jump in it from the porch or a tree and not kill yourself. We all remember snow piled up along the Levittown curb by a snowplow so high it was ready-made for an “igloo.”

And we once had the kind of snowfall that was a money-maker for an industrious kid with a shovel. Now, one neighborhood snowblower and a one-inch snowfall and they’re out of business.

Does this sound too much like one of those “back in my day” stories? Remember, I never said I walked to school without boots in three-feet of snow… as my Dad would repeat every winter.

Oh, oh, as I write, I think I hear rain, frozen rain. I’m not happy, but I reassure myself it will soon be Spring (March 20) and another season with its own colorful pleasures is upon us. The red buds will pop out and the green grass will come up, regardless.