Damn you Tom Skilling. Damn you to hell.

I just saw a commercial for the local news weatherman, Tom Skilling, which can only mean one thing.

Snow.

My mortal enemy. My arch nemesis. My bete noire.

I have lived in Chicago for almost 7 years now and I've come a long way since my sun-drenched California days. When I moved here, 60 degrees required a coat. Now I consider that bikini weather. 7 years ago, 45 degrees would have given me a petite mal seizure. Now? That's prime grillin' weather baby! That said, I have never, ever, ever gotten used to the snow.

Don't get me wrong, it's pretty. The first one of the year is always so festive...big fat flakes falling onto streets lit by Christmas lights. It's like a Rockwell painting on a Jose Conseco steroid bender.

But then it keeps falling. And falling. And falling. And pretty soon those virginal white flakes have melted into the mucky grey city sludge that turns a grocery store run into a cold, slippery, white knuckle ride that would make Mad Max pee his pants.

When I lived in California, I could smell the ocean. Now I feel the snow. I feel it before it's even started. A chill seizes upon this place and it's almost like a fog rolls in...a fog that won't lift until my tulips start to push towards the sky next May.

I felt it today for the first time this season. Another snow about to fall. Another season of cold weather and warm hearts. And I never thought I'd say this, but I like it. It makes me feel alive and hopeful for the next warm days. It makes me happy for the good cheer and love we feel this time of year. And it makes me ache for the people I can't see, which is why I'm not quite ready for Tom Skilling to tell me what I already know...that snow is coming.