​Do you feel it? A storm is coming.

The anticipation of a “BIG” storm has electricity buzzing through the air. As I went out, I could smell the snow and feel the dampness descend over me. Snow excites me. I think I am still that little girl excited for the possibility of a snow day, a warm, late breakfast, jumping into our sock-stuffed boots, and donning the pants and jackets that made us walk like bigfoot on the prowl.
Some of my fondest childhood memories involve snow storms. As a matter of fact, I was born in the blizzard of 1967. Although the story has changed as memories do, my dad drove through the blinding snow to the hospital with my mother in tow. She was dropped off at the door, and he was relegated to the waiting room, pacing quietly, waiting for the dr. to burst through the door announcing that his “baby boy” had arrived. I imagine that after two other girls, he was a tad bit disappointed that a boy I was not. Not to worry, though, because that brief moment of feeling was temporary, and he embraced being a girl daddy, dance recitals, cheerleading competitions, and all.
The best part of being born in a storm is that for years, I thought my birthday was a stay-home holiday because every year, a moderate snowfall would cancel school for the day. The worst part was that that same storm prevented my aunts, uncles, grandparents, and cousins from coming over to my party. Each year, we would plan a “family” party with cornflake chicken, ziti, rolls, cold cuts, and maybe a few meatballs, followed by a bakery cake of vanilla with strawberries. You know, the average 1980s party fare.  Happy birthday would be sung, and presents would be opened. But every year, inevitably, a few hours before the festivities were to commence, the phone calls would begin. They all sounded the same. The message was that, once again, there would be no party. Thank you, Mother Nature. We did reschedule, so I can’t say it was scarring beyond repair; just temporarily disappointed.
It used to make me a bit sad, but how many other kids got off from school on their birthday? I was actually the lucky one.
It was clear from the beginning that I was not going to be like my sisters. My family would often nod and speak in hushed voices as they agreed, “Well, she was born in a snowstorm,” as if that was all that needed to be said to explain my somewhat exuberant personality. I was the black sheep, the trailblazer, the wild child.
Maybe they were correct. Maybe the power of the blizzard did affect the person I have become. I kind of like that I harness the power of my own storm and that  I blow through a room, leaving my mark.
It is funny how the smell and feel of our impending winter blast brought forth such distinct memories. What natural event describes you or reminds you of a wonderful childhood memory?