Snow and Nostalgia

I have always loved classic movies. When I was in high school, over the course of one summer, I watched every movie in the classic section at my local Blockbuster. There was something magical about the glamour of Judy Garland, Marilyn Monroe, Humphrey Bogart, Barbara Streisand, Marlon Brando, and Audrey Hepburn. I relished in the nostalgia. Even though I wasn’t alive when these films were produced, I longed to be a part of the past.

This weekend, I was in Pennsylvania for my cousin’s wedding. Saturday morning, before leaving to accomplish the wedding day itinerary, I took a close look at my best friend’s back yard.  A thin layer of snow blanketed the grass, thick, hearty snowflakes fell to the ground. Bare trees reached their branches up as if to catch a flake mid-air. A thin sheet of ice blanketed the deck, as the temperature plunged quickly the night before.

I recognized all of the foliage- the maple tree that the dogs always play beneath, the weeping cherry tress that act as a barricade between us and a nebby neighbor, lavender that has gone into hibernation, flowerbeds that overflow with blooms in the spring. If I take just a moment, I can see the wildlife that call this place their home: the sparrows, robins, blue jays and cardinals. The hummingbirds that flock to the feeders filled with red, sugary liquid all summer, the monarchs that flutter around the butterfly bushes, even the raccoons that scurry across the yard in the middle of the night.

The wind was cold, but it delivered a refreshing blow to my bones. I hadn’t been home for such a long time that I almost forgot what it was like to need to wear a winter coat. In fact, before I left, I had to dig through my closet to even locate the thing as it had been so long since I needed to wear it.

Earlier in the week, I was at Lisa and Joseph’s, in Virginia, my typical blogging spot. It was still warm. The trees were transitioning from fall to winter and the thought of snow was so foreign. Although I have lived in Virginia for three years, it is often unrecognizable. I long for the cold, and for winding roads that wrap around hills. I ironically feel claustrophobic when I look out to a flat landscape. I want rolling hills covered in trees. If I can see the landscape more than ten miles in front of me, it’s too much.

It’s interesting how nostalgic we become for home, especially around the holidays. The 330-some odd miles that separate me from a place that is so familiar that it feels like an extension of my skin often feel impossible. Even with a wind-chill that dipped way below freezing, my affinity for Western PA’s climate was unwavering.

This weekend, driving through my hometown and even on the turnpike across my beautiful home state, I felt so comfortable.  The displacement and discomfort that I often feel in the south subsided for a few days.  It was not unlike the feeling that comes from watching the opening scene of “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” for the 200^th time, or hearing the first few chords of “The Way We Were.” I’m transported back to a time that makes sense, where I feel so insanely comfortable in my skin.

And so today, I will watch Judy Garland sing and dance in “A Star is Born” and I will long for freezing cold weather that requires a beautiful coat, mittens and a scarf.