A Time to Release...
Last year our snow levels barely reached double digits while the previous winter we almost doubled our usual accumulation. I must admit that I once loved the possibility of a generous snow storm. Those thoughts disappeared after two seasons of ice dams, leaks, and enough damage to require tearing down, drying off, and the rebuilding of a closet.
We now have heat coils on the roof—untested because of the meager snow the past two seasons. We turn them on when any snow begins and then strain to hear the water ascend down the drain pipe. We wait until dark, go outside, and check to make certain the unit is operating.
Starting last night our local meteorologists began to speak of an impending storm. Today they began to talk of blizzard conditions, strong winds, high tides, loss of electricity. Last night they said that this will be one of the ten largest storms to hit New England since records were kept in the late 1800s. This afternoon they said that this will be one of the five largest storms to hit New England.
Just a short while ago I turned on the television and noted the additional inches added to our possible totals.
"This is a classic New England Northeaster."
We've taken out our snow brooms, high boots, and waterproof mittens. The shovels are ready. Am I ready to dig my car out? I've charged up everything that lives by a charge—bought milk and bread and a large bag of low-fat, low-salt, organic corn tortilla chips, hummus, and a package of chocolate covered peanuts. Also bought two more cans of tuna fish We've cooked up a meal for tomorrow and lasagna for Saturday, waited on line for gas and wondered whether I missed the boat by not either making or buying muffins. There's always tomorrow.
This monster storm, as its been dubbed, steals in slowly and then muscles up by late tomorrow afternoon and through the night into Saturday.
One youngster I taught wrote about the time his father allowed him to ride along on an all night plowing job. He wrote about the donuts and coffee and the white-out and how he and his father jumped out of the truck to throw down sand for traction. Scott described a wondrous night filled with swirling snow, a warm cabin, and the way the morning light "just happened" when you weren't looking.
So I'm trying to let go, release, abandon my anxieties about leaks and buried cars. By Saturday evening we'll all know if this was a historic storm or if the convergence of the cold front and wet front didn't happen as expected.
Either way all I can do once the snow begins is get out my mystery book and settle in for the duration. There comes a time when all you can do is dismiss worries, release them into the universe and sit back and drink tea with honey, munch some tortillas and veggies and hope the heating coils on the roof respond well to a Northeaster.
We now have heat coils on the roof—untested because of the meager snow the past two seasons. We turn them on when any snow begins and then strain to hear the water ascend down the drain pipe. We wait until dark, go outside, and check to make certain the unit is operating.
Starting last night our local meteorologists began to speak of an impending storm. Today they began to talk of blizzard conditions, strong winds, high tides, loss of electricity. Last night they said that this will be one of the ten largest storms to hit New England since records were kept in the late 1800s. This afternoon they said that this will be one of the five largest storms to hit New England.
Just a short while ago I turned on the television and noted the additional inches added to our possible totals.
"This is a classic New England Northeaster."
We've taken out our snow brooms, high boots, and waterproof mittens. The shovels are ready. Am I ready to dig my car out? I've charged up everything that lives by a charge—bought milk and bread and a large bag of low-fat, low-salt, organic corn tortilla chips, hummus, and a package of chocolate covered peanuts. Also bought two more cans of tuna fish We've cooked up a meal for tomorrow and lasagna for Saturday, waited on line for gas and wondered whether I missed the boat by not either making or buying muffins. There's always tomorrow.
This monster storm, as its been dubbed, steals in slowly and then muscles up by late tomorrow afternoon and through the night into Saturday.
One youngster I taught wrote about the time his father allowed him to ride along on an all night plowing job. He wrote about the donuts and coffee and the white-out and how he and his father jumped out of the truck to throw down sand for traction. Scott described a wondrous night filled with swirling snow, a warm cabin, and the way the morning light "just happened" when you weren't looking.
So I'm trying to let go, release, abandon my anxieties about leaks and buried cars. By Saturday evening we'll all know if this was a historic storm or if the convergence of the cold front and wet front didn't happen as expected.
Either way all I can do once the snow begins is get out my mystery book and settle in for the duration. There comes a time when all you can do is dismiss worries, release them into the universe and sit back and drink tea with honey, munch some tortillas and veggies and hope the heating coils on the roof respond well to a Northeaster.
2 Comments:
Your writing is very entertaining. With all the visitors I'm amazed how few comments you get. Do not take that for a lack of appreciation.
From a sunny 42 degrees Holland I wish you strength.
Bert
Thank you for your comment. I truly appreciate your words
I expect that many people read the blog and aren't the commenting types.
Judging by the stats a fair number of people read my posts —thus there's a modest audience.
Enjoy the sun.
Linda
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