I hate the weather people.
This is no secret.
It's also no secret how they're often wrong and that sometimes they're
just plain crazy people who run around screaming, "Buy milk! The world is ending!"
But this time … this
time … they just might be right. Even
NECN's resident psychic forecaster Matt Noyes agrees with the predicted
Armageddon of snow.
But I'm not totally buying.
Not yet, anyway.
You see, I am planning on making pulled pork for the
storm. I'll start it in the crock pot so
if I lose power I can transfer the whole mess to a burner on the gas
stove. I forget onion, so I make the mad
dash to the store and discover it is practically empty. I am in and out, through the produce aisle,
the store, and the check-out line, in less than sixty seconds. I take son #2's car (he's off at college) for
a long ride before parking it close to the fence, then I park my car nearly
against it so both vehicles are hunkered down.
I batten the hatches of trash cans and recycling bins and plastic patio
chairs. Work has already been cancelled
for tomorrow.
Easy. Too easy.
My friend lives in Cambridge. She has been stressing for days about finding
that elusive parking space before the storm as well as whether or not she will
be expected to report to work a few towns away once the storm starts. She makes the executive decision to call out
for Friday and drives home to Cambridge after running last-minute errands. She lucks out with a parking space right in
front of her building; someone just happens to be pulling away as she
arrives.
Easy. Too easy.
Another friend, who lives closer to me in the Metro-North
area of Boston, has to do some shopping before the storm hits. She goes to one of those conglomerates that
often gets inundated with the transient population and their multitude of young
miscreants. You know, Border Jumpers…
the ones from Massachusetts hopping the invisible fence to tax-free New
Hampshire. She reports that her
check-out was complete and uneventful right up until the moment the masses
entered and let loose their lawless minions amongst the grocery aisles.
Easy. Too easy.
The dishwasher has been run, the laundry is folded, and I've
stockpiled ice in the freezer. I have
candles ready, extra blankets, and three shovels (well, two and a half) in case
anyone cares to join me in digging out.
I live in a house that has withstood the Great Blizzard of 1891, the
Blizzard of '78, had a microburst cut right over it, and went through sustained
hurricane-force winds only losing a couple of roof shingles. My cell phone is charging, and I brought
games and decks of cards up from the basement should the Internet or
electricity cut out on me. I'm as ready
as I can be.
Easy. Too easy.
Either we're going to get whacked or we're going to be fooled
again and look like the biggest idiots on the Eastern Seaboard.
Keep your fingers crossed, folks; it may well be a bumpy
ride.
