Snow- Way Out of This One

Many years ago, I remember a funny print out {this was pre-social media mecca sites} that my mother received from a colleague. It described a Southerner's experience with winter after moving north of the Mason Dixon. At the onset of cold weather, the Southerner celebrated the first white dusting to grace his home {as blankets of snowy wonder didn't happen to often "back home"}. However, as the cold months progressed and the snow continued to fall {nay, dump} from the skies - the Southern transplant's attitude plummeted. He bought a snow blower, a mini plow, de-icing material, and a 4 wheel drive SUV with snow tires. Eventually, the poor fellow gave up and moved back to Dixie and gave thanks for the occasional spit of five flakes that shut down the town and sent everyone running to Piggly Wiggly for bread & milk.

I laughed at this cautionary tale and found it quaint and {mildly} hilarious. At that time, I had "big city dreams" of moving to New York City and wearing fashionable coat/boot combos on my way to Radio City to perform in the Christmas extravaganzas I'd only seen on CBS Holiday Specials. I would {proverbially} "weather the storm" with style and aplomb. Then, I moved to Ohio.

When we loaded the truck in June and hauled furniture up to the second story, sweating profusely in the summer heat, I laughed at the Northerners who asked me how I'd fair in December. "It's not that far north of home, mo-ron!" I thought in my Southern girl twang. And for awhile, I was right - the weather was just like home... only better. Autumn was slightly cooler and the leaves actually turned gorgeous shades - like the pictures you see of Vermont or some other maple tree-laden oasis. Even summer brought more rain and just a few days of frying heat... and much less humidity, to my hot-roller hair day's delight! I couldn't imagine not having an idyllic experience once the snow hit. Surely, there'd be snow days galore in which Jolene and I could frolic free and happy?

Here's the reality of the situation. It's November - not even Thanksgiving, and I've seen snow hit twice. Not enough for a snow day in this god-forsaken Siberia... just enough to make my commute miserable {not to mention death defying}. The natives have mocked my long insulated coats and homemade ski mask for dog walking before dawn. They've laughed at my frantic confusion at no 2 hour delays or snow days. "For this?" they scoff. And I desperately search my prior knowledge for a visual of what type of arctic Armageddon it would take to get a snow day... the only thing that's surfaced is a scene from "March of the Penguins". {Though I'm pretty sure a sea lion attack shouldn't be a concern on First Ave at this time of year}.

Here's the thing - as much as I despise the bone-chilling cold that sends me running for electric blankets and heating pads to combat the "hard wind hunchback" from which I'm suffering, I love Columbus. I love the friends I've made and the scads of sweet restaurants at every turn. I love the UPS man {who regrettably was snatched from our route for the holiday rush, but has to return because he is Jolene's favorite playmate and a witty conversationalist}, and the numerous athletes {who inexplicably RUN OUTSIDE even now}, and the diversity of the city. I don't really want to leave... {although an offer to coach for Saban at Bama would never be ignored}. I guess that, for now, the only thing I can do is crank the heat and buy a new pair of Sorel boots. Because there's snow-way out of this one...

XO,