I have fond memories of padding around in the snow as a child. In fact, I believe one of my earliest memories after being adopted from Haiti was my mom taking me out for the year’s first snowfall. I stuck my bare hand out and exclaimed “snow’s cold!”
From the ages of 13-18 I lived for snowboarding, but boarding school quickly took the fun out of it. And then when I got to college I quickly got a part-time job and the weekends were my only day off, and the last thing I wanted to do was drive to a mountain, set up, get on the lift, come in to warm up, pay for an overpriced lunch, and drive back. Thus, unlike 90% of the kids that go to my college, “pow days” are not something I get amped up about. Instead I think of: shoveling out the car, wearing my big bulky boots instead of my cute leather ones, etc, etc. Why can’t the snow just stay on the mountains instead of in the city where it gets all slushy and icky?
The snow started falling in the middle of the night and the plows were out in full force by 5AM. How do I know that, might you ask? Well, a plow rambling by shook the walls of my apartment and awoke me from my slumber. The headlights streamed through the window and since I was still delirious I though aliens were invading and about to abduct me—the result of watching too much X-Files as a child. Safely assured that my orifices were probe-free, I snuggled back down and contemplated the attire needed for such a day.
The dreaded parking ban light. Leave your car out at night and you’ll get T-squared (ticketed and towed.) Thankfully I have my own parking spot.
The sign of a old-soul New Englander: we’re “smaht” and keep our wipers up. We also drop our R’s at inopportune moments. My car is looking mighty cold!