SNOW IS FALLING, FALLING, FALLING

Embrace the Ick — Think of something that truly repulses you. Hold that thought until your skin squirms. Now, write a glowing puff piece about its amazing merits.


I guess it would depend on how you feel about blizzards. I love them. I do. The excitement, the crazed, hyper meteorologists practically foaming at the mouth with enthusiasm. They do truly live for storms and it’s contagious. Briefly, before I get into the actual dynamics of what is about to happen, I’m a child again. No school! For like, a week!

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Then, I remember I am not a kid. I’m a senior citizen trapped in the house until we can find someone to plow out our ski slope (aka, the driveway). It would make a pretty good bunny slope, actually and I have often thought of how we could earn a few bucks from it. Never quite worked out the details, but I haven’t stopped hoping.

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At nine in the morning …

When I went to sleep last night, the predictions for this area had gone down to just about 18 inches, but when I got up this morning, it was obvious we had exceeded the predictions.

At three in the afternoon …

Since it’s still snowing to beat the band and isn’t going to stop until sometime late tomorrow, we may actually get the prize for total accumulation, though for sheer ferocity and damage, Cape Cod, Cape Ann, Hull, Scituate, and other places on the edge of the Atlantic are getting thoroughly trounced.

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So, enjoy the pictures. If you are in New England or New York, you probably have your own pictures. It’s hard to argue with the beauty of a major snow event. Snow is elegant. It produces naturally monochromatic images that can be quite breathtaking. I couldn’t get more than a couple of feet from any door and some of the doors proved nearly impossible to open, what with the snow piled up against it.

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All of these pictures are taken from our deck, out one of the windows, or from the bottom of the driveway. There’s nowhere else to go. Owen and Garry did some digging in the front yard so the dogs could get out, but even our snow-loving Australian Shepherd seems to think a nice, indoor nap is a better idea. I’m with him.

I’ll make pasta sauce later. The smell of the sauce should make us all feel cozy and warm. Meanwhile, the snow is falling, falling, falling.

EEK, ICK, YUK

Wolf Spider (Virginia, USA)
Wolf Spider (Photo: Wikipedia)

I’m afraid of spiders. Not because they are dangerous, though some are. Not because of the potential toxicity. I’m afraid of spiders because they are creepy, make my skin crawl, and make me scream like a little girl.

EEK, I shriek and jump straight out of my chair with my heart pounding like a trip hammer. The loudness of my EEK and the hysterical pounding in my chest is in direct proportion to the blackness and largeness of the spider. Bigger is scarier. Big, black and hairy might actually kill me from sheer panic and irrational terror.

A friend of mine was attacked by a wolf spider while sun bathing on her patio in Arizona. The thing was the size of a dessert plate. It landed on her breast and proceeded to take a chunk out of her. The pain was minor compared to the fear. Her terror was so intense she sold her house and moved to a place where there are no wolf spiders.

I’m with her.

But today, I am a warrior. I am a woman of power and pride.

I went into my bedroom to change my clothing this afternoon. There, in the middle of my white blanketed bed was a medium-sized black garden spider. Did I scream in panic? Did I even go EEK?

I rallied my womanly strength, balled up my clean pink tee-shirt I had just taken from my cupboard and squished it. Kept at it until it was nothing but a black smear of used-to-be-a-spider. Then, I put the tee-shirt on.

I went and told my husband. He gave me a proud thumb’s up.

I wear dead spider proudly. I am woman. Hear me roar.

BIRDS IN THE BUSH

Sunday morning, I woke to a blanket of snow across the landscape. Maybe 5 inches. Not a mega storm, but enough to cover the branches of the trees, the lawn, and the forest floor.

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I went out to take some pictures. Maybe it was the time of day … it was just a little past eight in the morning. There were dozens of little birds heading for the big forsythia bush. The birds love that bush. They love it in summer and spring and fall as well as in the winter. I don’t know if there is something there which they eat, or they just feel safe in its twisted branches.

We used to try to control it, but in recent years, it has quite gotten away from us, completely hiding the chain link fence that is the demarcation between our yard and the woods.

I was able to get some pictures of the little birds, something that usually eludes me. I don’t know what they are. Some kind of wren or finch. There are so many and they look very much alike. Our garden birds, sharing our world.

BLIZZARD!!

Living in New England, in the heart of winter, there’s nothing unusual about a storm on the way. Apparently what’s unusual about this one is its magnitude. It’s supposed to be really big. How big?

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Huge. Stretching up and down the entire coast and way out to sea. That is, until it comes ashore, something it is in the process of doing right now. They have cancelled school throughout New England for the next three days. Children are rejoicing throughout the region, but their parents are not quite as thrilled.

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The threat of hurricane force winds combined with massive snow accumulations makes most adults anxious. Or worse. It doesn’t matter how well prepared you are. Past a certain point, it’s not up to you. What will be, will be and you’ll just have to ride it out.

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I don’t remember so many super storms in the past. They happened, it’s true, but not storms the size of a continent. Not storm that affected most of the country at the same time. You can be as deep in denial as you like, but our weather has gotten weird, wild, and a bit frightening. We can argue as much as we like about whose fault it is, but it’s hard to ignore the evidence.

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It is snowing as I write this. Not as hard as it probably will later in the evening, but the roads are already slippery. It’s the layer on top of the layer that was left from a few days ago. That’s the way it goes here. Each snow becomes the ice layer under the next until eventually, the pavement is a distant memory.

Assuming I can get one of the doors open tomorrow, I’ll take some pictures. Very white pictures. I’m sure they will be beautiful.