We are awaiting our fourth Nor'easter in three weeks. When I left work yesterday, it was a warm and sunny 44 degrees. Today when I leave work, it still seems mild, and the air is timid. I make a quick stop at CVS for shampoo because I didn't realize until earlier that only a dollop is left.
By the time I get home from CVS (a quarter of a mile later), the weather is starting to turn. The wind is picking up slightly, the temperature has dropped from 36 degrees to about 33, and the air has a distinct tinge of snow-smell in it. (Yes, New Englanders learn to smell snow before we learn to walk.) I turn on the news, and the weather people claim the storm really is coming.
I have some doubts, though. This storm has already dropped a foot of snow in the DC area, and it is pummeling parts of Pennsylvania and Connecticut. Maybe it will lose its punch by the time it gets here. There is a sharp front line, too, perhaps preventing the worst of it from hitting this far north.
Just the same, I park my car all the way at the street end of the driveway. If it does snow and I have to work tomorrow, my intention is to bomb right through that white shit and leave it behind until later. I'll call it "Tara Snow" -- I'll think about that tomorrow ... at Tara Snow ... Rhett Butler and I will shovel Missy Scarlet out.
Oh, hell, what do I care? It may be Spring, but it still snows here. Get over it. I have shovels in the house and a shovel in the car. I have extra gloves and a hat and boots in my backpack for when I get out of work (in case the storm has super-bad timing). I'm ready, and, like most Nor'easters, before I realize, it will be gone with the wind.
Shovel; don't shovel; snow; don't snow... Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn.
