The snow doesn’t give a soft white damn whom it touches….E.E. Cummings

How soon we forget. It’s winter.  I have heard more bitching and moaning about the snow this week than I have in quite some time.  Mostly from people snug in their homes with laptops and fireplaces and fresh brewed coffee and their kids.    From retirees that can’t stand another minute…what is so urgent that the snow is cramping your style?  Just curious.  And from my mother who refuses to even look out the window at it all the while watching the 24/7 coverage of it on the news and grabbing her rosary for anyone stuck or stranded or who’s house lost power. God love her if she lets her guard down for just one minute the world would….who knows.

It’s true, snow doesn’t give a soft white damn but have we really lost track of the soft white part?  You know the beauty, the fury, the magnificence of all that snow?  Have we lost track of the nostalgia?  There was NO SUCH THING as pre-announcement school closing when I was a kid (God how I hate typing that).  My dentist and I had this discussion on Thursday, when he confirmed my tooth was indeed fine, that we waited with anticipation for the siren to go off at 6:30am when school was closed.  As I may have written before, pandemonium in feety pajamas broke loose in my house.

My father couldn’t stay home because he had that kind of boss but he knew how to drive in snow and taught us how to drive in snow.  His big problem became all the people out and about getting in his way.  Same problem the plow drivers have when someone is valiantly trying to make it to work in the office.  The office, not the hospital right, the office.  We never had the luxury of having him home on a snow day but now fathers are bundling up the kids and going out to play.  That is an awesome part of snow.

I’m blessed to have my Stowe Lane family coming to my rescue.  Best sight ever was Muriel showing up for “payment” after cleaning off the 12” of snow from my car we got in the first round.  I didn’t even know they were out there and I certainly had no intention of going out until the “email” came.  One bottle of wine, two cans of Coke, a quart of sauce and half a loaf of bread (ready for the oven) later my debt was paid.  Love those two.

Don’t think I’m not guilty of becoming that person.  You know the one.  We get the “email” from our property manager pronouncing us all get out and clean off our cars as soon as possible so the snow removal people can clean up the parking lot.  She gave the usual dos and don’ts but the gist was getting your ass out there ASAP.  We’re a pretty good group, all of us bursting out the door like something out of Dr. Seuss with our brooms and brushes and shovels and scrapers.  Dressed in our layers and big boots and funny hats and mittens.  We’re quite the sight on Stowe Lane.  So we’re all done and moved over to the already clear spots from the morning and we wait and we wait and we wait and now people are starting to come back home.  The next email goes something like; yesterday we got 18” of snow, then rain, then more snow.  Ok, we’re listening.  And the guys are concentrating on the streets.

No they’re not.  The guys haven’t been seen since early in the morning.  The guys are still at the beginning of the complex because they didn’t believe the weather forecast and are trying to use their existing equipment and manpower to clean up the after effects of a blizzard. Really?  They shovel a shovel-width path all around the complex completely ignoring the handicapped spots (not that anyone living on the second floor is really handicapped but I digress) then they bring one snow blower, one. OK, don’t give me that line about how over worked they are and their concentration on the streets when you should be asking where the rest of their equipment and manpower was.  Yes I did send her pictures; yes I did mention that at least some of my maintenance money should go to the residents who were cleaning out the handicapped spots.  And YES the bobcats and plowman and backhoes did show up 15 minutes later.  Oh my God I have become that person…

Meanwhile by Saturday my sister was calling it “day three of the hostage crisis”.  Granted she might have done something to her back (not shoveling as she has an angel of an upstairs neighbor for that) but she was also enjoying a good book, getting back to cooking albeit Sandra Lee style as she calls it, and the very genuine phone calls from work wanting to know how she’s doing.

While I was cleaning up and digging around my car on “email” day I had an interesting conversation with GI Joe (he’s a former marine with a story). By interesting I mean more than the usual pleasantries, I try to duck him since I found out he went to Brockport with my ex brother in law.  While he’s moaning about the snow I remind him that Rochester might have been a little worse than this and he’s a former Marine made of tougher stock than most.  It dawns on him I might have something and switches to telling me about the steak he barbecued last night.  Seemed a bit serendipitous as his wife is usually very meek, let’s say. I smelled that steak cooking when I took the girls out.  It was a pleasant surprise in the middle of winter and it smelled damn good and I told him so.  I asked if he and his wife enjoyed their dinner….well um she is taking care of her sister who broke her wrist….I know like I know this was his version of pandemonium in feety pajamas.

For me, being socked in on Stowe Lane is priceless, I work, I read, I cook, I enjoy the beauty out in the enchanted forest and my neighbors and going to bed early and a good bottle of wine and the quiet of the neighborhood when I poke my head out before anyone else.  I love what my camera sees and I love having the uninterrupted time for just a bit of nostalgia.  Still I too am longing for spring:

“The world is mud-luscious and puddle-wonderful.” ~ E.E. Cummings

Can’t wait to bitch about that when it gets here in thirty one days.