This Tuesday was such an exciting day. Everywhere you turned someone was saying something about the impending blizzard. It was the kind of unavoidable topic of conversation that you just had to give in and share your two cents on. Like the vuvuzelas at the 2010 World Cup. So, I bantered around clever pseudonyms for "apocalyptic" snowfall and crossed my fingers to make it out of work just at the right time to see the beginning of the storm, but not so late as to put my car in the garage with a layer of snow already on it.
My blizzard-eve timing was impeccable. The flakes were just starting to blow as I drove home and the air was full of an intangible, impending something. Driving through my neighborhood, I imagined everyone cozied inside, holding their breath, nursing some tea and, perhaps, watching television with the ones they love. I got the impression from coworkers, who did indeed expect to see me at the office the next day, that I could take a little bit of patience getting my car onto the road. I didn't think a snowplow would come down my street anytime before noon and, if we got the foot of snow that was being talked about, my car wouldn't even be able to clear the drifts. So, I made myself some popcorn and put in a movie that had been Netflixed onto my TV stand for near a month. (The movie: The Damned United, a film about English football coach Brian Clough which is well worth the time for fans of anything British or beautifully filmed and acted.) I half wanted to stay up all night and watch the snow and half wanted to sleep soundly (and without an alarm clock) with the background noise of the blizzard outside. When I turned in around midnight it seemed that wind was blowing around already accumulated snow more than there was any new precipitation. My eyes closed, in the same way they did when I was in high school, to the question of whether the next morning would present a fantastic scene of a world entrenched in white.
When I got out of bed not much later than my usual time, it appeared the Facebook-based assumptions that the weathermen had exaggerated the severity of the storm were correct. But, snow was still falling. And the flakes that continued to rain down looked like they meant business. As I made myself some coffee I decided that the next hour was best spent with Milan Kundera's The Unbearable Lightness of Being.
The concept of a snow day is something that has always fascinated me. It was also always the night before which seemed to hold the most magic. Like an unintended Friday night, I would always stay up watching television or playing video games. My younger self had simple solutions to entertaining an opportunity. The day not spent at school was never exactly "productive". For the most part, it meant playing in the massive amount of snow which had been the cause of the artificial weekend. Nowadays, the thought of a free day off of work was too much to get out of my head, and I had contemplated using a vacation day simply to enjoy the communal feeling that so many of my friends were experiencing as their classes or places of work were closed. I was needed at work the next day, though. Given only a few extra hours lenience to get my car out of the driveway, I milked my morning at home for all that I could. I made myself french toast and sausage, listened to some of my favorite relaxed morning songs and watched out the window as enormous flakes continued to pile themselves onto my front lawn. I saw no point in trying to clear my driveway just yet. There was so much more enjoyment to drink in and glasses of coffee and orange juice, though necessary, were not enough.
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