I had a nightmare the other day that I was back in Ohio, and it was snowing. Then I realized it was the middle of the day, I was in Florida, and . . . it was snowing! Not just a few gentle flurries but a full-blown snowpocalypse. Vehicles buried. Porch swallowed. Ground smothered. Roads treacherous. The plants I’d managed to keep alive through the summer—frosted. And the hammock and the lawn chairs, which I forgot to take down, covered with several inches of snow.
Excuse me, Weather, what part of “I moved to sunny Florida to escape snow” didn’t you understand? The only good news is that everything is canceled, businesses are closed, and there is no traffic—which is really good because no one in Florida has the faintest idea how to drive in the snow.
Now, back in Ohio, a snow day was just another ordinary day. By late fall, I’d slap on my snow tires, the way you set your clocks back, and went about my routine, not about to get sidelined by the white stuff that tended to stick around from November through April. Sure, I got stuck a few times, but that was no big deal. With a little bit of maneuvering (or a friendly push by strangers), I was back on my way. No self-respecting Yankee is going to let a little snow and ice stop them from going where they want to go. Not even a blizzard—except for the only time a fraternity party in vet school was canceled due to weather. Bunch of wimps! I’d made enough scalloped potatoes to feed the entire city of Columbus. I ate a lot of scalloped potatoes in the days that followed.
In Ohio, we hardy northerners never closed anything for a foot or two or three of snow. Snow days? Get real. School was NEVER canceled unless a snow plow couldn’t find the building—which, to the best of my recollection, never happened. I worked at a veterinary clinic 45 minutes away from my house. It never occurred to me to call and tell the boss I wouldn’t be in because of a little winter weather. We walked to and from school in snowdrifts up to our waists—barefoot, uphill both ways. Okay, fine, maybe not barefoot. We wore those ugly galoshes with the buckles. But we DID walk. And the girls wore dresses because back in the Dark Ages (and the Ice Age), we had a dress code, absurd though it was.
But here, in Florida, I don’t even own an ice scraper for my windshield. Let alone a snow shovel. Or a heavy winter coat. Or boots, other than for fashion purposes. Even if I wanted to go outside and make a snowman—rather than sit inside by a roaring fire with a cup of hot chocolate—I don’t have the necessary attire. Plus, after forty years of living in the South, my thin blood is likely to ice up in my veins. The very thought of “going out and playing in the snow” sends literal chills up my spine. I’ll take a pass on making snow angels.
So, here I am, staring out at the most snow I’ve seen in my entire Florida existence, thinking, “Where’s the global warming when you need it?”
LOL I’m with you, Ellen. Moved here to FL from OH to avoid snow. I also didn’t venture out to play in the snow this past week. Been there there, done that, and don’t need to do it again.
It’s the beginning of another ice age…but wasn’t it pretty around here?
It’s the return of the Ice Age! But wasn’t it lovely to see?