Two months ago, I was whooping and hollering with excitement. “Snow! I love snow! Bring on the snow!!” I’m not an outdoors person, but on the first two days of subzero temps, I spent more time outside than I have the last 12 summers combined. I was making snow angels, and digging through drifts just for fun. I took a broom and eagerly brushed the light, fluffy snow from our vehicles, laughing gaily when a mound blew from atop hubby’s truck and landed squarely on my head. The air was still, the landscape pristine, and my heart was at peace.
Being snowed in was cozy and romantic. Frozen pipes? No big deal. Who needs water when there is love, and a steady supply of beautiful snowflakes drifting against the back door?No electricity? What does that matter when you have a gas fireplace, an air mattress, and two snuggly children to cuddle?Besides, nothing lasts forever, right?Wrong. It will never end. I fear we are going to be eternally lost in this polar vortex, that has been escaped only by death or the rare flight that has not been grounded at the airport.
When hubby made his escape on one of those rare flights, I was left on my own to contend with all snow-related matters. Initially, this did not deter my enthusiasm. After all, I had no doubt I would soon be elected president of the Let It Snow club.I returned from the airport to find that during my two-hour absence, the pipes had frozen again. I had really hoped to knock out the accumulated mountain of dirty dishes, but instead I set about unthawing. I ran up and down, to and fro, with hair dryers and space heaters, all to no avail.
Pulling numb hands into the sleeves of my sweatshirt, I realized that the air felt quite brisk. I kicked up the thermostat and waited. Nothing. Hubby gone, pipes frozen, furnace on the blink; the weekend was shaping up nicely.