In which I write about the weather
Day 657 of Snowmageddon. Or something.
I think, at this point, we can be certain that the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse are actually Slush, Off-Duty Plows, Wet Socks, and Offices-That-Do-Not-Close-During-An-Official-State-of-Emergency.
I am surprised by how much I am still awed by the beauty of falling snow. Just as I think my tolerance has totally worn out, I look out the window and grudgingly appreciate it again. I think if I were about to be hit by an avalanche, my last thought just might be “well, it *is* awfully pretty…”
The snowpocalypse has also brought a fair amount of fun. Anything that makes the walk to Ritters seem like an exciting adventure should get some credit. I built a totally ghetto snowman and participated in the creation of a tunnel in a snow mountain on Liberty Avenue at 2 AM for no discernible reason other than to say we did it. Abby turned to me at some point and said something along the lines of, “You’re loving this. This is like your favorite thing, isn’t it? Doing weird stuff, late at night.” Doesn’t everyone love doing weird stuff late at night?
The snow hasn’t been all bad, but (are you listening, incoming blizzard?) absence makes the heart grow fonder. Being snowed in from time to time is charming. Being held hostage for 2 weeks is tiresome.
My house is sporting some spectacular icicles that make it look like an enormous monster face. I kind of dig it, except I’m worried that one of them will fall and stab a kid in the head or something. The rain pipe along the side of my house is completely frozen over at the second and third storeys, flowing over the porch roof and culminating in a wall of icicles that are really more like ice stalactites. At their most terrifying, I would estimate they hung about 5 feet from the porch roof, growing at alarming rates. My shovel has proved more useful at maintaining the ice monsters than at maintaining the sidewalks, as the snow is so packed in at this point that I cannot get it up (everyone is sold out of salt!). Also, where are all of the kids asking to shovel my sidewalk for ten bucks? Kids today have no initiative.
I am worried about my roof and my basement. Where is all of this water going to go as it melts?
When can I wear real shoes again? Cute as my snow boots are (they are CUTE) it is hard to plan an increasing number of outfits around hot pink puffy boots. Yeah, one of my major beefs with the snowstorm of the decade is my restricted shoe selection. 90,000 without power? Why can’t I wear my new teal stilettos?!
Good thing I’m going on vacation soon!
To Scotland. Tropical Scotland.
Regina, why couldn’t you do you masters in Nassau?
I think, at this point, we can be certain that the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse are actually Slush, Off-Duty Plows, Wet Socks, and Offices-That-Do-Not-Close-During-An-Official-State-of-Emergency.
I am surprised by how much I am still awed by the beauty of falling snow. Just as I think my tolerance has totally worn out, I look out the window and grudgingly appreciate it again. I think if I were about to be hit by an avalanche, my last thought just might be “well, it *is* awfully pretty…”
The snowpocalypse has also brought a fair amount of fun. Anything that makes the walk to Ritters seem like an exciting adventure should get some credit. I built a totally ghetto snowman and participated in the creation of a tunnel in a snow mountain on Liberty Avenue at 2 AM for no discernible reason other than to say we did it. Abby turned to me at some point and said something along the lines of, “You’re loving this. This is like your favorite thing, isn’t it? Doing weird stuff, late at night.” Doesn’t everyone love doing weird stuff late at night?
The snow hasn’t been all bad, but (are you listening, incoming blizzard?) absence makes the heart grow fonder. Being snowed in from time to time is charming. Being held hostage for 2 weeks is tiresome.
My house is sporting some spectacular icicles that make it look like an enormous monster face. I kind of dig it, except I’m worried that one of them will fall and stab a kid in the head or something. The rain pipe along the side of my house is completely frozen over at the second and third storeys, flowing over the porch roof and culminating in a wall of icicles that are really more like ice stalactites. At their most terrifying, I would estimate they hung about 5 feet from the porch roof, growing at alarming rates. My shovel has proved more useful at maintaining the ice monsters than at maintaining the sidewalks, as the snow is so packed in at this point that I cannot get it up (everyone is sold out of salt!). Also, where are all of the kids asking to shovel my sidewalk for ten bucks? Kids today have no initiative.
I am worried about my roof and my basement. Where is all of this water going to go as it melts?
When can I wear real shoes again? Cute as my snow boots are (they are CUTE) it is hard to plan an increasing number of outfits around hot pink puffy boots. Yeah, one of my major beefs with the snowstorm of the decade is my restricted shoe selection. 90,000 without power? Why can’t I wear my new teal stilettos?!
Good thing I’m going on vacation soon!
To Scotland. Tropical Scotland.
Regina, why couldn’t you do you masters in Nassau?