I see Facebook postings by friends in Colorado and Washington State showing luscious white snow against barren dark trees. I do not miss it. Not at all. Oh, I remember the squeak of snow underfoot when the temperatures dropped below Zero degrees F. I remember the stomping of my boots as I’d enter the door. The feel of my ungloved hands held up to the fire. I remember watching the snow flying up and out sideways from the snowblower John was pushing down our walkway. I remember it fondly from the 25 years we lived in the white stuff but …