I have had it. I just survived the fourth snowstorm in several weeks. I was lucky this year. Oil prices were down. My ex-boyfriend plowed my driveway and did not bill me. I even learned a few things from this “Snowmageddon.”
First, it is possible to go up two pant sizes in three weeks without a glandular disorder. I don’t think it is traditional middle-age metabolic slowdown. Ordinarily, one’s diet consists of protein, vegetables and maybe vitamins. Currently, my diet consists of fat, sugar and salt. Unless salsa counts as a vegetable, I am in trouble. At first, storms were meant for snuggling up and binging on treats. I baked. I splurged and bought Pepperidge Farm Macadamia Nut cookies. I am back to the generic tub-o-cookie of the week, or whatever is on sale. I no longer serve steaming cups of cocoa with whipped cream and sprinkles to my teenagers in snow flaked mugs. Now, I bellow that treats be brought to me- immediately. If the cabinets are empty, my precious babes are accused of theft.
Second, I hate white. It is a coward’s color. It’s for quitters like those who become overwhelmed at Sherwin Williams by pamphlets of color combinations. Are you stuck? Blue too much for you? Try white. Ironically, my colors are “winter colors” based on the analyses of fashion magazines in the 80’s. Remember those? Fuschia, red, etc.? I don’t recall white being a winter color. Do you? The one time I was required to wear white was my wedding. Do you want me to tell you how that one turned out?
Third, not only will I never win a medal at a winter Olympic event, it is highly doubtful that I will even attend one as a spectator. I am D-O-N-E with the cold. I am shocked that I skied every weekend possible in college. Somehow, I had money to do this, and I chose that? Maybe I had killed more brain cells than I thought. Have you seen the movie “Castaway” with Tom Hanks? It was on the other night. After countless days with my cherubs in the house, I can’t, for the life of me, figure out why he wanted off the island. And, if I ever built a raft, you can be confident, that it would only be to carry that volleyball “Wilson” and his incessant yapping out to sea.
Fourth, when my ex-husband remarried, I dreaded another woman vacationing with my children. She would be Mary Poppins with my well-behaved darlings admiring her glowingly. I was devastated at the prospect. Yesterday, I remembered something. Allegedly, a few years ago, at Disneyworld, my kids got wet on a ride. They had to go change. As a result, their dad’s wife promptly sat down and cried. She had missed her character breakfast with Mickey. I then reflected on my childrens’ recent behavior. Last week culminated in a late night disturbance over the one working phone charger we had. Both children had Facetimed, Skyped, Facebooked, Instagramed and Tweeted their phones out of juice simultaneously. After what ensued, I had a revelation. I saw myself and fears for what they were- silly and unwarranted. I took action. I placed bows on each of their heads and escorted them to their dad’s car. I wished all of them the best trip possible in the Bahamas, and laughed as I knew I had nothing to worry about. I can forever cross that fear off the list as irrational. I told them to enjoy their trip. They all deserved the upcoming week together.
Fifth, I used to be a staunch believer in global warming. Could I afford a Prius, I would have one. I applauded programs designed to protect the environment from the melting Arctic Circle. Now, I ask: Is it too late to use the money for snow-melters, better winter public transportation, and Uggs for everyone? How about generators and roof rakes? The northern ice cap has not disappeared. It simply relocated- to my town.
I survived the past few weeks. I learned a lot about myself. For example, I need hustle and bustle. I like color. I also think I might miss work. Writing is a great escape. Quiet is comforting from time to time.
And yet, I wonder… Would the neighbors mind if I painted the snowbanks on my lawn tie dye? Why won’t the dog sleep at my feet when I write anymore? Why don’t I get excited about anything the way that weatherman got excited about “thunder snow”? Maybe the next storm will bring me the answers to those questions. However, I would prefer the answers will roll in with the tide next summer.