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
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
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
This is the opinion of Susan Reinhardt at
Copyright Susan Reinhardt
Susan Reinhardt is a columnist based in Asheville,
N.C. You can reach her at firstname.lastname@example.org
Check out her books at SusanReinhardt.com.