There are about 5 inches of beautiful fluffy snow on the ground…and in the streets 5 inches of delicious black slush to wade through. I now understand that snow is a mixed blessing even when it doesn’t shut the city down.

It’s astonishing just how engrained the idea of a white Christmas is in me, even though I’ve never seen one. (I think in 2006 there was a flurry on Christmas, but it hardly counted.) We’ve both been singing Christmas songs incessantly since my birthday; the people who work at the cookie factory I pass on the way to school can probably sing my mom’s entire Bing Crosby Christmas CD by now.

Music is what makes Christmas for me. I don’t particularly love it, but no matter how many candles, trees, and red bows I see, if I didn’t hear the phony Christmas music, the holiday season would come and go without my noticing. This means that I have a great and terrible power in my hands: I can make it Christmas any time I want just by putting Christmas music on the radio. But can I sustain a doubled Advent season, a two-month vamp to a holiday that I won’t even really be celebrating anyway? Probably not. So although I wake up with Mannheim Steamroller running through my head every single morning, I’ll just have to wait until Advent to start indulging myself.

The bus that runs from home to the university continues to be problematic. Although it’s supposed to come every 10 minutes, both Nathan and I have waited more than 20 minutes for it on more occasions than not. We’ve begun calling it Godot.

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