Thursday, January 08, 2009

Snow dazed

When I was a kid, an early-December snowfall was an important, some might say vital event. Thick blankets of snow in the early days of the month meant that when my birthday party came around there would be sledding. There would be icicles to devour like popsicles. There would be heavy, icy snowballs to whip at the heads of unsuspecting friends.
And what's a party without the risk of someone getting a concussion?
When I was a member of the Stillwater High School cross country ski team early-December snowfalls meant the end of dryland training, which is really just a fancy term for running around town carrying ski poles. Then again, it also meant we had to start skiing. It was a mixed blessing at best.
Admittedly, I was never an enthusiastic skier.
Walk-ing through a snowy landscape, city or country, can be an incredibly peaceful experience.
A good blizzard creates roads for snowmobilers and hope for students who are behind on their homework. It hides the dirt that ordinarily covers things and provides the genetic material that will become hundreds or thousands of snowmen.
Who doesn't love snow? Right?
Thing is, I'm not celebrating my birthday as these things occur to me. I'm not skiing. I'm not hiking. I'm not snowmobiling or rolling the beginnings of a snow family. I'm not even hauling my stupid ski poles up yet another flight of stairs.
No, as these thoughts run through my head I am making my way home from work.
Very. Slowly.
It's 10 p.m. I've just spent more than three hours in a Farmington School Board meeting listening to people talk about tax levies and contracts and redesigned report cards. I'm doing 30 miles an hour on a stretch of road where the speed limit is.... OK, I don't know what the speed limit is. I can't see the signs. But it's definitely faster than 30 freaking miles per hour.
The day's heavy snowfalls have made traffic lanes a matter of driver interpretation. Roads that were once three lanes are now two. Roads that were two lanes are somehow four. I don't pretend to understand how that happens. It's the perverse math of the blizzard.
I'm not sure if this qualifies as white-knuckle driving. I'm wearing gloves.
I want to be home, not in a still-warming-up car with my hands wrapped tight around the steering wheel. I want to watch the snowfall from my bedroom window, not through my windshield. I want to be getting ready to go to sleep, not wondering how long it will take me to shovel the sidewalk in front of my house. I want to be warm.
At the very least I want to be aiming a lump of snow and ice at a friend's face.
Snow when you’re a kid is great. But you know something? When you’re an adult snow kind of sucks.

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