Last Sunday, the weather app on my phone chirped while I sipped my coffee. When I read the alert aloud, it said we were under a winter-storm advisory for Tuesday. Jilda was giddy. She loves snow. I …
Last Sunday, the weather app on my phone chirped while I sipped my coffee. When I read the alert aloud, it said we were under a winter-storm advisory for Tuesday. Jilda was giddy. She loves snow. I enjoy it more now that I don’t have a job that requires me to drive into work. Soon, we were making snow-day plans.
Stepping out to the shed, I checked the generator. We don’t normally lose power when it snows, but if the weatherman is wrong, we could have ice or freezing rain. That’s a different story. The generator was good to go, but I put a reminder on my phone to fill the gas can and get a few extra quarts of oil.
After morning chores, we headed out to Walmart. We don’t eat much loaf bread, and we had plenty of milk in the fridge, so we avoided those aisles as if someone over there had the swine flu. We did make sure we had what we needed to make snow ice cream. We paid the tab and headed for home.
That evening, I scanned Facebook to catch up on the news. Since I’ve blocked, deleted, or hid most of the people that post political crap, my timeline causes me much less stress these days. One of my friends shared a weather map. It used loaves of bread to show how bad the snow would be in various areas of the state. It looked like the snowfall predicted for Empire would require two loaves of bread. I howled when I saw that graphic.
My great nephew Jordan would be celebrating his birthday on Tuesday. He loves snow more than we do and he was cranked that the governor had declared a snow day on his birthday.
Sometime after midnight, I heard rain begin to rattle our metal roof gently. That sound is better than a sleeping tonic for me.
The next day, my eyes popped open at first light. Scrambling out of bed, I hustled to the garden door to get the scoop. There was no scoop.
Stepping onto the deck, I walked over to the banister. There was a trace of snow. It looked more like someone with bad dandruff stood out there and scratched their head.
I dreaded breaking the news to Jilda, but when I turned to go inside, she was standing behind me. She said, “Well SHOOT!” (Except what she said, could not be printed in a family paper.)
Pulling the phone from my pocket, I snapped a picture of the pitiful snowfall.
After pouring our coffee, we sat on the couch in front of the fireplace and stewed.
Logging onto Facebook, I posted the snow picture and MARKED US SAFE from the snow-mageddon 2019.
I saw where the local weather folk were taking a beating on social media over the miscall. Here’s the thing – I’d much rather have them err on the side of caution in this situation. If they predict snow and they’re wrong, the kids and parents get a snow day. If they say it’s not going to snow and it does, people could end up getting hurt.
The Weather-folk must have taken the criticism in stride, I saw where someone posted, “If you still want a Blizzard, Dairy Queen opens at 10 a.m.”
Rick Watson is a columnist and author. His latest book Life Goes On is available on Amazon.com. You can contact him via email at firstname.lastname@example.org.