I’m
a snow freak. When the forecast shows those flakes on the radar or warnings
uttered from some meteorologist’s mouth, I get as excited as a child on
Christmas Eve.
Snow is
my Santa, the white world that falls and makes winter gorgeous, like a gift in
the jolly man’s bag.
But here’s
the deal, snow forecasts for those who adore white worlds, are often like blind
dates. First, there’s the huge build-up.
“You’re
going to love this guy. He’s amazing. He’s a world-famous neurosurgeon who
donates most of his time to helping the poor in Honduras. He’s taking you to
the fanciest, 5-star seafood restaurant in town.”
Then you
go on the date and he’s driving an El Camino and smoking Camels and asks if
you’ve heard the Lobster bites had returned to the Long John Silver’s menu.
That’s
how it is with these snow predictions that promise six inches and deliver one or
two. If bad weather is coming – and at least snow is beautiful to us
southerners who never got any growing up – then why not get a boatload. Six to
seven inches is perfect.
The one
inch we usually receive is a bummer. It snarls traffic, causes wrecks, cancels
schools for two days so that as mothers we go crazy and wonder if 10 a.m. is too
early for margaritas – kidding, on that one. Maybe margarita pancakes.
I’m
writing this on Wednesday morning, as the winter warnings and banners continue
flashing across my TV and computer screens, along with that annoying dancing
lady they keep putting on weather.com for some odd reason.
Oh, the
storms they are promising.
Heavy
snow. The works. Get thee to the grocery store because you know good and well
there’s nothing in the pantry but two cans of stale kale and a half a box of
Wheat Thins from 2002.
These
wintry predictions bring on visions of sledding down hills with the kids,
drinking hot chocolate, and a day to just relax and enjoy the beauty of a
fairytale world.
I search the
skies the way bird watchers haunt the air for rare beaks and feathers. When the
little white diamonds began falling, I stay up for hours, mesmerized by nature,
gazing as if it’s some sort of alluring show.
I go to bed
hoping for that promised six inches. And wake up with one or two.
It’s enough
to cancel school and sled and then listen to children the remainder of the day
who are bored to death with nothing to do. That’s when I began to rethink this
whole “I love snow” thing.
The worst part
is when the next day, the schools call for a two-hour delay. This makes no
sense. Here’s why.
School
starts around 8 a.m. The temperature rarely goes up but a degree or two between
8 and 10 a.m. Now, how much melting can go on during that time?
What
this means is another day of figuring out how to entertain stir-crazy children
who by now are fighting with siblings, have eaten all the good provisions, and
look at you as if you’re crazy when you say, “Let’s play that cool game
‘Apples to Apples.’”
This is
the opinion of Susan Reinhardt at sreinhardt@citizen-times.com
Copyright 2008 Susan Reinhardt