There must be a foot of snow on my car right now. I'm sitting in the house, three and a half hours after waking up to go to work, only to find that the tri-state area is being hammered with a winter storm. The weathermen predicted six to nine inches, but it seems like so much more has fallen.
When we were warned about this snowfall yesterday, my boss was sure it was going to pass us by. "We probably won't get anything," he said, looking out of the window in the office. "Yeah," he sighed, stretched and surveyed the clouds overhead, "it'll probably blow right past us." Then, almost as an afterthought, he said, "But if, you know, it doesn't pass us, don't bother driving in it; if it's that bad, don't come in. Just play it by ear. Give me a call." I was torn: On one hand, I wanted him to be right. I hate driving in the snow, the way major winter storms hamper my ability to go anywhere and do anything. But on the other, I crossed my fingers that he was wrong, and that we would get the furious snowfall predicted by all the local meteorologists. The words don't bother driving in it, don't come in were like music to my ears.
So, this morning, I called his cell phone and the office and left messages saying that I was not about to chance it on the unplowed roads, but that I'd keep an eye on it and go in if it cleared up.
I worried shortly when the clouds parted and sun started to shine. The rapid falling of fine snow had given way to thick, sluggish flakes, and I was concerned that I'd have to shed my morning coat, finish my coffee and jump in the shower to head in to work. Anyone who lives in wintry climates knows that sunshine plus big fat flakes equals the end of the blizzard. But the lull in the whiteout was apparently only Mother Nature taking a breather and rejuvenating. The clouds reunited and the snow has gone back to falling with oomph. The house got dark again as the parted clouds came back together and I smiled, sipping my still hot coffee and relaxing into the pillows.
Today could only be more perfect if Billy hadn't gone to work. He left at seven. Unafraid of the snow, he plodded out to his covered car and dutifully started it, cleaned it off and backed down the driveway. I made his coffee while he showered, thinking of how wonderful it would be to sit inside with him and watch movies all day while snow piled around the house.
But, instead, I'm here alone, coffee and cigarettes close at hand, enjoying my first weekday off since I started my job a week ago. If I still worked at the bank, I'd be there right now, bitching about having to drive in the snow, rather than sitting here watching snow nestle into the crooks of tree branches and the dips and rises of the porch. I much prefer this.