I would like to compare this year and last year in terms of snow. Last year . . .
White Christmas – The first major snowfall of the year was met with happy smiles. It was a weekend, so everyone was already home from work. Facebook was filled with status updates detailing the loving meals being prepared, how the kids were frolicking in their new snow boots, how everyone was warming their hands with hot chocolate, and how wonderful it was to have a weekend devoted to family right before the holiday.
February Fury: The Snowicane – The second snowstorm of the season was a surprise, but hey, it’s February, it’s the Northeast. It snows. Status updates on Facebook mentioned getting a lot of use out of snow clothes and equipment. We all ho-hummed our way through another batch of cookies and some well loved movies but the enthusiasm was definitely waning.
February Fury Part Two: The Snowpocalypse – The second major snowstorm in one week is enough to send anyone cowering under the covers. Facebook updates are more along the lines of “Really?” and “Again?” My son, who was only 35 inches tall, could not walk in the 48 inches of snow piled in our backyard. Groceries were scarce because there wasn’t much time to get to the store and the shelves were bare because the trucks barely had time to deliver.
Fast forward one year . . .
Instead of big storms that are predicted days and days in advance, giving you plenty of warning to stockpile bread, ice cream, and early onset diabetes, we are getting a series of small storms that seem to spring up with absolutely no warning. It has snowed once per week for the past five weeks and each time, forecasters took their time about actually predicting snowfall amounts. They say rain, it sleets. They say sleet, it is dry. They say snow, but forget to carry over the one. Is there any other job in the known world that allows for more inaccuracy? How can Reed Timmer predict five days in advance where a tornado will hit in Omaha but Paul Goodloe of TWC can’t tell me today what will happen tomorrow?
As a whole, the little drips and drabs of snow have been underwhelming. Snowmen built last year hung around for a while and were big enough to wield their own shovels. The snow-Smurfs of this year get stepped on almost immediately. There aren’t any cool names for three inches that rise up by morning light (well, there are, but they have almost nothing to do with snow). It’s not a Snowapalooza, or a Snowmitzvah, or even a Snownado. It’s just sad. No one’s bragging on Facebook about baking cookies and no one is celebrating school cancellations because this year, we all have our eye on our beginning-of-year resolutions and end-of-year calendars. This year’s snow isn’t being celebrated, it is being endured. It isn’t death by a thousand cuts; it is death by a thousand flakes. Pity the poor groundhog who predicts six more weeks of winter. He won’t make it back to his hollow alive.