Since I last wrote to you, we’ve had three snowstorms. In North Carolina. Where it never snows. Two weeks ago we had
snow. All Monday night the news shows
concentrated on the weather. They asked
us to stay home so they could lay salt brine on the roads. For the next few days, the bottom of the TV
screen continually ran the list of what schools, businesses, etc. would be closed due to the storm. We didn’t get a lot of snow, but the
temperature dropped and the snow froze on top.
I couldn’t open my front or side doors because of the snow/ice ridge
that blocked them.
By Wednesday, I took our handy dandy hoped-we-would-never-have-to-use-it snow shovel and chopped
away at the snow on the front porch in order to get the door open. Then I ventured, very carefully across the
porch, down the steps, and over to my car to go get two days’ worth of mail
that had been accumulating in my mailbox. The
temperature didn’t get above freezing for days.
Finally, on Friday, it got up to 36 degrees and I once again
ventured out to get milk and another two days of mail. That was one super cold week; space heaters were on in whatever room I was in.
Last week on Monday night the screens were again filled
with schools and business closings and frantic newscasters. I woke up Tuesday to just over two inches of
light, fluffy snow on the porch, car, and everything else. It was so light, I could sweep it off with a
broom. Wednesday got a little warmer and
melting was in full force. Then,
Wednesday night, we were advised to stay off the roads so the brine could be
spread and we were to stock up for a possible four to five days of being
snowbound. I needed groceries anyway, so
I joined what seemed like the whole town of Garner at the grocery store to
assure my existence.
Thursday, I woke up to just over an inch of snow. The snow had turned to rain, leaving the
white stuff heavy and crusty. I shoveled
a path across the porches just so I could get to the steps and to the trash can. I looked out the kitchen window and had to laugh when I saw icicles hanging off the roofs of my birdhouses. Talk about a flashback to growing up in Vermont. We used to have huge icicles hanging from the roof to the ground all around the house as though we lived in a crystal prison. Oh yeah, I LOVE snow. Ha.
The only person I know of that enjoyed this lovely weather was
the little two-year-old next door who was outside in snowsuit, boots, mittens, and
scarf, playing in the snow.
As I write this, yesterday was in the sixties and
tomorrow is supposed to be in the seventies.
I say, “It’s about doggone time!”
This is the South, after all, and it’s not supposed to get this kind of
weather. I read that the average temp
for Garner for February is fifty-eight degrees.
Ha! We barely got above forty for
the entire month of February.
Have I vented enough?
After thirty years of living in San Diego, putting on a coat EVERY time
I walk outside is for the birds. Spring, I'm ready for you!
Quote of the Day: When men were all asleep, the snow came flying/In large white flakes falling on the city brown. Robert Bridges
1 comment:
I'll beg forgiveness later. I can't resist. After 30 years in sunny California and phone calls gloating to your family back east during the middle of a New England winter, I'm trying to say, "gee I'm sorry you have to go through that," but it won't come out. It's stuck in my throat. "Is this what payback looks like?" Oops, did I type that out-loud? I do love you mom, just put on wool socks!
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