Cindy and Snow

Pardon me while I pull out my Texas twang. I know our cusins up nawth around Dallas, Amarillo and the Panhandle get their share of snow. But those of us down here around the Gulf of Mexi… America, have been downright snow-deprived at least since I’ve been on the planet. My childhood snow story began in 1960. I was 5. The TV weather guy said it would snow and IT DID, leaving me with the mistaken expectation that this magic called snow would be part of my childhood, like Christmas.

By the age of 10, still no snow. I fixated on a popular TV weatherman named Sid Lasher who must have realized that mentioning chances of the 4-letter “s” word, however slight, was good for ratings. What a tease. I clung to this man’s every word, crossing fingers, arms, and legs, rain dancing for snow, and downright begging God to make it snow. 

By the time I reached high school, my 5-year-old snow memory had faded like the black-and-white pictures of that day in 1960. I had given up on snow, and praying, for that matter.

But then, my senior year, on January 11, 1973, as documented in our high school yearbook, I kid you not, IT SNOWED. An entire high school of snow-repressed teenagers got a couple days off to do all the usual snow stuff along with probably some extracurricular making out. It was the perfect last hurrah for high school seniors, more magical than any prom. 

As an adult, I tried to get my snow fix on ski trips to Colorado and cruises to Alaska. It wasn’t the same. It was just there. It lacked the element of surprise. 

As a recent traveler to France, our flight home was scheduled for 8 a.m., Thursday, November 21st amid warnings that a rare snowstorm was about to shut down Paris. The adult in me knew we were fortunate to make one of the last flights out, an hour before headlines screamed “Chaos in Paris! Heavy snowfall buries Paris airport!” I pretended to be glad to leave like most adults. I didn’t want to appear uncool in front of the Slatkos. Our travel friends, Bart and Betty Slatko, recent Houston transplants from New York, would be happy to never see snow again.

Back to Houston reality, back to my exercise routine at the downtown Y, I overheard a man named Rick Roberts describing a delightful experience in Paris in the snow. Turns out he had arrived the day before the snow and was able to take in its magic in a semi-jet-lagged dreamlike state. He said all the shops were open as people dipped in and out for croissants and hot drinks. He said even the stoic French were surprisingly surprised over their first real snow in 56 years. 

Months later, I was still feeling sorry for myself when, on Tuesday, January 21, 2025, as you know, IT SNOWED in Houston! I bet you were there! I'm happy for you, me, and all the people in H-Town, especially those who, like me as a child, didn’t go on fancy ski trips. I was so happy seeing the sledders on cardboard at Hermann Park, snowmen dotting parks and esplanades, and animated people as snow melted Houston hearts into a strange togetherness.

But the snow day that sticks most in my mind was in Hunt, Texas on the last day of 2020. Stan and I and two dogs ended a rough Covid year in the quiet of our country cabin. As we woke up that morning, tiny white flakes were starting to stick to the back deck; slowly each window from inside the house had its own unique scene as our landscape took on the look of an exclusive winter resort. Stan started cooking soup and I built a real wood fire in the stone fireplace. Our day ended in the glow of fire and a peaceful inner stirring. I picked up my laptop and pounded out some words for the February 2021 issue of The Buzz Magazines called Just Love. 

The more I listened to Rick’s story of Paris in the snow, the more I realized that my best snow experiences include the feeling of being at the right place at the right time. Ten years ago, Rick happened to be standing in his yard when his neighbor fell to the ground in the process of a heart attack. Rick called for an ambulance and administered CPR on the spot. This neighbor believes Rick saved his life. The neighbor also happens to have an apartment in Paris, which he said Rick could use. And while it took Rick 10 years to get around to it, he managed to time it for the most magical snow day in Paris in 56 years.

I don’t know what inspired me to write Just Love after a day of watching snow transform my world. I guess I was just feeling it in an abstract universal way. But it occurs to me that a more concrete way is found in the story of Rick, a grateful neighbor, and a day in Paris in the snow. 

Editor’s note: Find photos from this January’s epic snow day here. And read Cindy Gabriel’s poignant Just Love: It’s a no-brainer [Feb. 2021] at thebuzzmagazines.com.