Black Eye? Welcome to Your First Winter Wonderland, Miss Hadaway.

Last week, I woke up, got ready, and went outside to find a thin layer of snow on the ground. It wasn’t much, didn’t cover everything and had a very muddy quality to it but, none the less, it was snow. Snow, on my front porch, on the bushes in front of my building, and along the path I take to school every morning. Proof that, no matter how much I wish it was not the case and that snow was simply a place to visit and say, “Oh, this is nice, I think I’ll throw it at my brother’s face,” and then go home, snow is coming to my village and there’s not a dang thing I can do about it.

Then on Monday, after a very cold night, I woke up and peeked out of my window, seriously expecting to see more snow on the ground. Nothing. It looked freezing and rather dreary but the ground was bare. I quickly got ready because, as always, I was gonna be late, and was running down the steps about 35-40 minutes later, hurriedly swinging open my heavy front door only to stop dead in my tracks as little white specks were drifting past my view, landing on everything, and creating a blanket of snow that was already an inch thick.

I stood in awe. This was a monumental occasion. This was the moment I’ve been waiting for since I found out that Bulgaria experiences true winters. This was the first time in all my nearly 27 years that I have seen snow falling from the sky. And it was different then I’d imagined. Different because, I’m pretty sure I’ve seen it before…

I was late so I just ran to school, through the snow, thinking how different my life has become and how surreal it is to live in a place that can change colors in 35-40 minutes. I taught some classes while continuously glancing out the windows as the small, white flecks continued to fall, waiting for the moment when I was free to go back outside and try and catch some on my tongue which has always seemed like a lot of fun (and a rhyme, if you say it out loud. Try it). The snow stuck to my face, to my eyelashes, to my fingers and to the ends of my hair. I studied it, trying to grasp the feeling of déjà vu from that morning. Was it just because I’ve seen snow in the movies so many times? No, because this wasn’t really like movie snow. It was different. I expected snowflakes that look like the ones we cut out and hung on the walls of our classroom. Only smaller.

It looked like...foam. Like dishwashing soap when you blow it off of your hand and into someone’s face. It looked fake. Suddenly I knew exactly what it reminded me of – Disneyland. Every Christmas, Disneyland has a big parade right before the park closes and, at the end, snow falls for about 10 minutes and all the kids' (and parents') faces light up and it’s so wonderfully cheesy that you can’t help but remember the sounds and lights, faces and smells (did you know that Disneyland manufactures its own smell and releases it through hidden vents all over the park, because smell is the strongest sense related to memory and they ((they being the Imagineers)) know you’ll always associate that perfectly fabricated smell with unbridled happiness ((well, only unbridled if your mom doesn't put one of those weird leash things on you )) – true story). But Disney’s snow is fake. It’s actually just soap. It’s stays all foamy and soapy when it lands on your face, eyelashes, fingers, and hair. All this time I thought Disney had it close but not quite accurate when, really, that’s exactly what snow looks like…apparently. How I could ever doubt Disney, I do not know. My apologies.

Anyway, it snowed again today and it’s really beginning to pile up. I love the sound it makes when it crunches under my feet. I also love the hidden patches of ice underneath that make walking an adventure – I’ve almost eaten it several times already and I have a bet with myself to see how long I can go without falling and how many people will be present to laugh at me when I inevitably do.

When I was in Cali, we would go to the snow, in the mountains, where snow belongs. We would drive for an hour or so and find the perfect spot. Though, usually, we weren’t the only ones to realize its perfection and would have to share the side of a smooth, perfect-for-sledding mountainside with about a million other people but, hey, that’s California for ya. But this time, I just had to walk across the street. My students asked me in fifth period today if I would meet them after school to go sledding. I said of course. They then returned to my class at least 5 more times that day to make absolutely sure I was coming. I don’t know if they doubted my understanding of their Bulgarian or they were just that shocked that a teacher would join them for something so frivolous and awesome.

I showed up, sled down the mountain screaming my head off like a crazy person, got into several snowball fights as my students seem to really enjoy pelting me with round, packed snow, and got one right in the eye which made me look like I’d been in a serious fight. The majority of the students there were from my “trouble class” so it was nice getting to spend time with them when screaming was a reaction to extreme fun-having and not frustration. I left soaking wet and freezing cold and knowing that it was the best Thursday I’ve had at site. Success.

The moral of the story: get the sneaky third-grader in the eye first cuz he’s probably not wearing mascara that will then run down his face. Seriously, when I got home and looked in the mirror the first thing I thought was, “I look homeless.”

Pictures of my first snow to come when I’m not cuddled under the covers feeling perfectly lazy and recovering from a black eye that I’m actually exaggerating to the point silliness.

-Age