forgetting frames of reference (snow!)

I walked into my parents' house this evening to hear my mother exclaim, "Look at your hair! Go look in the mirror!"

Was there something growing on it? Perhaps I cut some off accidentally, or dyed it green Anne-of-Green-Gables-style?

None of the above. It was snow.

I was born and raised in Georgia, but have lived north of the Mason-Dixon Line (gasp!) for over four years now. Snow retains the rudimentary magic with which I first beheld it, probably since my snow-self is really only four and a half years old. Maybe I will always feel that awe after missing out on it regularly in childhood.

Despite my continued love for snow, I no longer see it as unusual. Growing up and moving away teaches me that I've readjusted my normailty in a lot of ways, but not until my mother's comment this evening did I realize that even my internal weather system has transitioned to a colder neutrality. Snow might be exciting, but a flake on my hair is about as odd as an acorn below an oak tree--- that's just where they fall. 

I can laugh at my mom if I want, joining other Yankees as they scoff at wimpy Southerners. Losing that awe is less humorous, though, than a reminder that I've changed and readjusted. I'm in "my parents' house," after all; it's no longer "mine," as well.

So, I looked in the mirror. The snowflake made me smile and remember that snow might be old hat for me today, but it was a luxury when all I knew was Dixie.