Monday morning I woke up to find snow. But the roads were clear and I hadn't gotten the call that morning from the school saying they were closed, so I loaded the kids up in the van. When we arrived at the school all the lights were off. Not a soul there except P.J. who was salting the porch. P.J. is the custodian there. I wasn't about to stop and ask him if school was indeed closed. He'd just make fun of me. It seems that the message from the school had come the night before; and silly me hadn't checked the voice mail or the school closings on the web. We drove on by the school, and I took us to the store and bought the requisite milk and bread.
Tuesday morning, and there's more snow. And there's more no school. The roads are treacherous. The snow is pretty, but later in the day the temperature drops, and the snow is glistening. When I venture out to take the garbage to the outer trash can (which is frozen shut, by the way), there is a layer of ice OVER THE SNOW!! It crunches and reminds me of this movie I saw as a kid. These people are flying in an air plane. I believe they are soccer players. The plane goes down in a snowy deserted landscape. Things don't turn out well.
Wednesday morning, and there's some precipitory event, but I don't know if it is sleet or freezing rain. I'm pretty sure it isn't hail though. I'm from Alabama, so all this cold, very cold weather crap is somewhat new to me. Yet again there is no school. Even my husband's school is canceled. I consider that we only have a gallon and a half of milk left. I think about rationing it.
There are icicles on the power lines. My concerned mother calls and suggests throwing rocks at the power lines to knock off the icicles. I consider whether throwing rocks at power lines is safe.
I remember a movie I saw a long time ago about a family who is staying the winter at a hotel by themselves. The guy is a writer. He thinks being shut up all winter will give him lots of writing time. He types and types and types. His son likes to ride his big wheel all around the hotel. The woman screams a lot, and she's a little on the scrawny side. It doesn't turn out too well for the bald guy who checks on them periodically. He may or may not have been a Harlem Globetrotter. It doesn't turn out too well for the writer either. Apparently he's stuck on this one sentence about being dull.
My fur-lined boots are missing. I consider if tennis shoes are enough protection to trek through snow banks on the sidewalks to buy more milk. The snow trucks cleared the main road, but it piled all the snow up on the sidewalks making walking to Kroger even more of an adventure.
On the bright side, I wrote about three pages on my new story yesterday! And not one sentence had to do with all work and no play.
Posted by Jennifer Johnson at 4:40 AM