Although almost every television outlet has adopted “Snowmageddon” as the correct noun to use when describing the end of the world by snow, personally, I favor “Snowpocalypse.” Call me old-fashioned, but when I look out on the Siberian landscape we call home, I think apocalyptic thoughts. I think “We’re will be trapped here. We will die and the dogs will eat us.”
Garry and I discussed it last night. It was a loud conversation, not because of any disagreement, but because he had removed his hearing aids.
“We have to get better,” he suggested, referring to the Cold That Will Not Go Away.
“Or we could die,” I pointed out.
“Thanks for that image,” he said.
That was when he suggested the dogs would probably eat us. I thought it possible Owen might notice our non-communicative state before we fully rotted. If not, then the smell.
“Also,” I pointed out, “We might not get better, and we might NOT die. We could just stay like this. Forever. Coughing, wheezing, sneezing. While the snow turns glacial and consumes the house and us with it.”
“It sucks,” said Garry.
“Definitely sucks,” I agreed.
Then we went to bed. To sleep, perchance to dream. With the hope that morning would bring a better day.
The Daily Prompt: Play Lexicographer – Create a new word and explain its meaning and etymology.
It has not been the apocalypse. Not “Snowmageddon.” Nonetheless, as I write this, we are approaching three feet of accumulated snow. It’s not over, either. Depending on who you are following, we’ve got quite a few hours more of storm to navigate. More snow on Friday and maybe more on Monday. An awful lot of white stuff.
So let’s do good news first.
Snow is crystallized water. When it melts, it usually does it slowly enough to be absorbed by the aquifer. Snow is better for the water supply than heavy rains.
This snow, though huge, came late. We got through most of January without any significant snowfall. In one more month, it will be the end of February and three weeks after that, the vernal equinox. In other words, spring. Winter arrived with a bang, but it will be a brief season. Not like the years when it starts snowing in November and we don’t see the ground again until April. No matter how much snow we get between now and whenever, they can’t take away the extra weeks we got where the ground was clear and the landscape was not a frozen wasteland.
The unfortunate part is self-evident.
A lot of snow means a lot of snow-removal. We hope we can find someone to plow us out. Eventually, I’m sure we will, but we are poor, so we are not high on the rankings of places to plow first. The guys with plows will dig out people with fatter checkbooks before they get to us. I could complain about that, but I also understand the economics which apply. Some of these guys depend on the money they earn in the winter to keep them through warmer months, so they hustle while there’s business.
Someone will help us. I just don’t know when. Meanwhile, it’s beautiful. A bit arctic. The snow is deep. This is the most snow I’ve ever seen from a single storm. It may be a record for the region. Still, there’s no arguing with how pretty it is.
About 10 days ago, Garry and I got sick. Coughing. Wheezing. Sore throats. Runny noses. Chills one minute, sweating the next. The perfect storm of a classic winter cold. My son came down with it at the same time as did half the people with whom I’m in touch on the Internet. We all have the dreaded What’s Going Around.
We get sick every winter. Every damned winter. It doesn’t seem to matter what we do. We get sick anyway. We faithfully get our flu shots, but what comes around is never what it was we got vaccinated for. We tried to have a conversation earlier this evening. I couldn’t hear him because my ears are blocked. He couldn’t talk any louder because his throat is so sore. Then we both started to cough, then laugh, which made us cough more.
Danger lurks. No one is reclusive enough to avoid What’s Going Around. The worst places (in order of threat level) are a doctor’s waiting room. The drug pickup area at the pharmacy. The grocery store. A dentist’s waiting room. Really, any place where people gather in the winter is a place full of germs. We are doomed.
Whatever we are suffering is never the flu. We have all the symptoms, but it’s not what it looks like. Even though this year’s flu vaccine wasn’t quite on target for the mutated strain that showed up. Oops. The CDC takes their best information and base the vaccine on it. They usually get it right, but sometimes, the flu that shows up isn’t the one they prepared for. Double oops.
We’ve already been told — on the phone, without an examination because all those other sick people are clogging the office — we do not have the flu. Is this supposed to make us feel better?
I’ve been trying to smile. To not whine all the time, which is what I feel like doing. I’ve got a ton of stuff I need to do and feel too crappy to do it. We are snowed in. I can barely haul my aging, aching carcass and a camera to a door to take a few pictures of this impressively deep snow.
It’s hard for me to stay cheerful when I feel exactly as bad today as I did a week ago, if not slightly worse. So does Garry. And Owen. None of us is better than last week. I think I’m worse. But the doctor says it’s viral, so there’s nothing she can do.
I’m not cheerful. I feel like my lungs are full of liquid. As if I’m being water boarded by a virus. I know it’s just a winter cold. It will go away. They always go away. I wish it would go away very soon. Now would be good.