The first snow

I usually love the first snow of the season. It hides the world and is an excuse for lots more hot tea, fuzzy socks sweat shirts. I get lots and lots of good writing done. I can play Christmas carols and I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas seems like more than a dream.

Today I don't love it. My daughter is due to fly in from Edinburgh. We were going to go the Café Soleil, a first meal tradition.

We've talked twice this morning, and I've emailed her ways to get here by bus. If the new bus routes in the city are confusing to those who use the system daily, she may end up in a strange place not realizing what bus goes where. That is if Cointrin stays open...please, please, please let it be open.

At least the The car will stay in the garage -- despite years of driving in New England snow, it is not my car and my housemate is too nice a person to have to be told that now is the time to buy the car she was vaguely considering buying because hers is a heap on the side of the snowy road. Geneva has too many drivers from tropical places and they don't know how to drive on a snow-covered road.

As much as I love living here with the view of the lake, this would be a time that it would be great to be in my old flat within walking distance of the airport.

Still, the most important thing is that my daughter gets here safely, no matter what time.

Meanwhile I'll drink tea, write and listen to carols but NOT I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas."