It didn’t snow today, as we all now know. Well, of course, it did — a little. Just enough to keep us guessing. It’s starting! (We’d been waiting for hours.) But it never materialized into anything more than an inch or so. Some ice on the windshield. A slick patch on the walkway, which M graciously salted so I could get to work.
To work. To teach the classes I had smugly neglected to prep, so certain they’d be cancelled. Because, blizzard. Luckily, these are classes I have taught for eleven years. On the drive in, I flipped through my mental syllabus. Week Four. Ah, yes. Group contracts. Topic proposals. Collaborative writing. Cakewalk.
And it was nice to get out of the house. To shower and put on a skirt and makeup and teach things when I had anticipated a day at home with a boy in pajamas, hours of questions and answers and watching the clock until dinnertime. His school had been called off since 8pm last night, so even though we awoke to barely a whisper of weather, he was still in the clear. M was home for the same reason, which was a stroke of very lucky luck from where I sit.
Tomorrow, it’s back to our regularly scheduled programming, which is just fine with me. I don’t even feel remotely jealous of all the joyous playing-in-the-snow photos my Boston friends are posting. Have at it.
They are talking about three more “chances for snow” in the next week or so, which seems more a threat than a promise, especially since we’re getting ready to take a long road trip out to Pittsburgh to meet some friends. But maybe we’ll keep dodging bullets. Maybe the whole rest of the winter (which can’t be very long now — I mean, where the hell did January go?) will be near-misses and dustings. Before we know it, crocuses will be poking their heads out. We’ll be thinking about the vegetables to plant in the garden.
I’m ok with that. I’m already ready to be done with winter wear. Capris are practically calling my name. The cropped-er the pants, the closer to God?