It’s cold out there, my friends.

Now, I know many people are complaining and even shocked about the cold. Not me. It is winter after all, and in many places of the world, that means cold. It does not, incidentally, have anything to do with the earth moving away from the sun, as many of us were taught in school. Weather is actually affected by the tilt of the earth in relation to the sun. But, I’ll leave that discussion to my husband, the science teacher/microbiology major, and I’ll stick with silly anecdotes which may or may not be sprinkled with tidbits of wisdom, or at least humor. Maybe.

I grew up in Southern California but have spent my adult years in Utah, so if anyone gets to complain about the cold, it’s me. But I don’t. Oh sure, I may cry a little when I get into a cold car, or I may feel like swearing when my fingers fall off as I shovel the driveway. But that’s not complaining, exactly. I’m simply experiencing winter in my own, wimpy California girl way.

But I love it. I do. Honestly. I was the child who would look out the window at the palm tree in my front yard and wish it were a pine tree. I would sigh as I mowed the lawn in December, wishing it were covered in a blanket of white. I dreamed, nay, prayed for a white Christmas. And though I loved the Christmas days where my family would play baseball at the local park, a part of me longed to “be up north” if you will.

Now, this is not a post about winter and how lucky I am to actually have them now. Because, really, instead of mowing, we’re shoveling and instead of sweating, we’re freezing. But its’s aaalll good.

With all this snow we’ve been getting lately, I have been reminded of a little story from high school that makes me smile, and maybe it will make you smile, too.

It was February and I was a freshman sitting in the 6th and final period of the day–geometry with Mr. Herman. (“Are ya with?”) Anyway, it had been a cold day, and I don’t mean Southern California cold. It was cold enough that my hoodie that I wore from December to February and parts of March was actually not enough to keep me warm. Crazy. I know.

Mr. Herman had just slid one side of his white board over with his usual gusto to reveal the clean side on which he would teach us more about parallelograms, or tell a little joke about the word “assume,” when I looked out the window. Beautiful little flurries of white were falling from the sky! I love how snow has the ability to make people of all ages behave like three-year-olds. We–our class of fourteen to sixteen-year-olds–stood up and gasped and ooh-ed and ahh-ed. Poor Mr. Herman struggled to get us back in our seats, though his mustached mouth twitched as he fought back a smile.

At that moment, an announcement crackled over the PA system. “Students and teachers, school will be let out early today on account of the snow.” Cheers erupted and Mr. Herman could no longer hide his smile. We jammed our books and folders into our Jansports and began lining up at the door, waiting for our blessed release.

“All right, everyone. Have a fun day. But no donuts in the parking lot,” Mr. Herman said.

We all looked at each other in confusion. What was wrong with donuts in the parking lot? Did someone bring donuts? Where are these donuts?? Was there a better way to celebrate our early release from school than donuts in the parking lot??

We filed out of the classroom as Mr. Herman shook his head.

Alas, there were no donuts in the parking lot. A small part of me hoped that the school would provide us with some, or one of the kids might open their trunk to reveal of stash of donuts for just such an occasion. But it was not to be. I climbed onto the front bench seat of our huge gray suburban next to my older sister, who had her hands clenched at 10 and 2 on the steering wheel.

“Have you heard about donuts in the parking lot?” I asked her.

“You mean like food donuts, or when you spin your car around to make donuts in the snow?”

My cheeks burned and I looked out the window. “Well, yeah, the snow donuts.”

Thankfully, she left it at that and I spent the rest of the ride home sighing in relief that I hadn’t asked anyone else about the donuts in the parking lot. As soon as we got home, our California family turned on Christmas music, turned on “White Christmas,” and drank hot chocolate . . . without donuts.

Safety first.