 |
Washington, DC, March 1942
|
I am very jealous of everyone in the Northeast. I love a good snowstorm -- and Tennessee just doesn't get enough of them. (Admittedly there's been more snow this winter than any other time since I moved here, but folks still consider it the blizzard of the century if five or six inches of snow stick around for a day or two.)
I talked to my parents yesterday, and they were right in the thick of things, with something like 16 inches on the ground and more coming down. (The Washington Post describes the scene.)
I was working in DC when the blizzard hit in 1996. I was home from college and working, and got to stay home from work for a few days. Then I had the adventure of making my way across town to work for a day or two before the next batch of snow. My brother was visiting a friend on the other side of the county, and ended up spending a couple of days there until I made it there to pick him up. Meanwhile, my dad stayed home from work, my middle brother stayed home from school, and we all just enjoyed the automatic holiday. I have a picture of my brother, my dad, and me posing with shovels amid the massive piles of snow in front of the house. (The picture is crooked -- I think Mom was having trouble operating the camera with gloves on.)
I honestly lookat the whole thing as an adventure. Everyone's in the same boat -- marooned by a blanket of white fluff. It's a good opportunity to sit down and smell the hot chocolate. Something people should do more of.