It snowed again last night, here in Small Town, USA.
Now, I’m not a mathematician who concerns herself with a lot of statistics (Except the lone statistic of, “Put the Sprite down! You’ve already HAD a Sprite today! You do not need two Sprites in one evening! I don’t care if we DO have thirty-three cans leftover from Stomach Flu ’17. One Sprite per day, until they’re gone. BECAUSE I’M YOUR MOTHER AND I SAID SO, THAT’S WHY!!”), but I think our total snowfall accumulation for this winter is… thirty-six… carry the one… carry the three… SEVENTEEN THOUSAND, FOUR HUNDRED AND NINE INCHES.
We have had so much snow, our driveway looks like it was cut through a canyon of snow. Our driveway has WALLS right now. Walls of snow, put there by the snow blower. They’re twelve feet tall and are threatening an avalanche, as we speak.
We have suffered another wave of windchills sitting at MINUS TWENTY-TWO DEGREES.
We have no more room to put snow, after it has been shoveled.
Our hopes and dreams of ever mowing green grass again have been crushed like ants marching along in an elephant stampede.
My mom’s cousin lives in the next state over, and she’s suffering through as much snow as we are this winter. Except, you know, she seems to enjoy such things as SKIING, which I don’t enjoy, because the cold air hurts my face; I really just want to be indoors when it’s ZERO DEGREES OUTSIDE, drinking coffee. She posted THIS to her Facebook page today:
The most amazing part is that our weatherman (And let’s face it? Can he even be trusted any longer, when he says we’re going to get dusted with another one to three inches of snow, which turns out to be an assault of fourteen inches instead?) has told us that we can expect high temperatures of FORTY-FOUR ENTIRE DEGREES ABOVE ZERO tomorrow.
And that’s forty-four POSITIVE, ABOVE THE ZERO kind of degrees!!
Forty-four degrees… after we just had indoor recess at school yesterday, because the windchill was enough to freeze your lungs on contact.
I know forty-four degrees makes Texans think the end of the world is near, as they start buying North Face coats and long underwear online in a frantic frenzy, but forty-four degrees for us… up here in Small Town… will mean our schoolchildren will take their coats OFF at recess tomorrow. We will venture out in nothing but our shirt sleeves. We will marvel over the spring weather. We will buy the COLD DRINKS at Starbucks tomorrow. We will hold hands and jump up and down in the sunshine, and we will laugh over the joy found in knowing that everything will be alright again. Forty-four predicted degrees is going to restore our hope and renew our souls.
… forty-four degrees is going to melt our snow-canyon walls along our driveway and our patio in a big, fat, ugly hurry.
Forty-four degrees, with all this snow, is going to put our town’s two carpet cleaning businesses at DEFCON 1, as this snow gets out of here in a big hurry, straight through basement cracks and gaps, and lands in deep puddles on laundry room floors and on family room rugs, clear across our county. Forty-four degrees is going to take the snow piled up in our backyard and drive it straight into the back of our basement, into our storage room where the furnace is located. It’s going to cause wailing and gnashing of teeth. We’re going to be ripping our sackcloth and putting on ashes, as we gather our oldest bath towels and our antique box fan, straight out of 1982, in preparedness.
… we don’t have hurricanes.
We don’t have hurricanes.
We don’t have hurricanes.