I have learned a lot this winter: about blizzards and how to identify them, what to do when you find a blizzard in an urban environment, and how to avoid getting buried alive by a blizzard. I have learned enough to know that you can't control or tame a blizzard, you can only pray for it to go away...and not come back (at least until next December).
Blizzard A (we'll call him "Alex") struck the weekend before Christmas. He brought lots of powdery, beautiful, light snow, which was easy to shovel off of cars and sidewalks. He came on a weekend, which meant we didn't miss school or work, and our routines weren't disrupted much. Neighbors laughed and joked about the snow as we cleared our paths and dug out. We helped one another shovel the alley, so that people could drive, knowing that a plow was unlikely to come by. Alex was gentle, and kind to us. He even went away quickly, and the snow he left behind was rapidly destroyed by a rainstorm later that week. Ahh, Alex, if only you had been the only one.
Blizzard B (we'll call her "Beatrice") came in early February, again arriving on a weekend. Chris was in San Antonio for Beatrice, so I got to dig out our cars by myself. My shoulder and elbow still feel a little funny. Our front yard (read: yard is a euphemism. It's a tiny plot.) became an 8' pile of wetter, heavier snow. But, Beatrice too was kind to us--perhaps because she knew what was coming--and left as quickly as she'd come. The sun shone all day the next day, and when Chris got home a day late from TX, the snow on his car had melted off by the heat of the sun.
Just when we had "dug out" (shoveled 2' of snow off the cars, cleared the walks, and gotten to the point of being able to leave the neighborhood safely in a vehicle), "Chuck" arrived. That's Blizzard C, the third blizzard of the winter, and the second in a week. By the time we heard Chuck was coming, we were ready to fly to Florida. In fact, we may have bought our tickets that week.
Chuck, like his name suggests, was mean and short-tempered, catching us off guard--one hour he brought snow, then rain, then freezing rain, and then another foot and a half of snow. That's right, that means a good inch or so of ice was cementing the pile of snow to the ground and weighing it down like a lump of cement in the snow shovel. Perhaps it was Chuck that made my elbow twinge. Yet, even Chuck, when he left, left behind a beautiful, sunny, blanketed world, that at least for a day or so allowed us to slow down and enjoy the snowfall as if we were kids. Speaking of kids, the neighborhood kids turned our now 15' pile of snow in the yard into a sledding hill, quickly re-covering the sidewalk we had so tirelessly shoveled. They called it "the slide." Chris enjoyed it too, saying, "If you can't beat 'em...join 'em!"
Well, the magic wore off soon. We never saw a plow come down the street. The 44" of snow just got packed down, and during the day when the temperatures rose, it would turn into a swamp of slush with a layer of ice on the bottom, so that driving was more like floating, trying to avoid hitting another floating vehicle. Then, at night, the slush would freeze, so that in the morning that floating sensation would turn to a scraping, constant scraping, along the tops of frozen slush chunks.
Perhaps you're wondering why the recycle bins in the picture above are lined up along the shoveled parts of the curb? Ah yes. The "saving of spots." Remember how in elementary school you would get up for a minute and tell your friend, "Save my spot?" It worked then, and it works now, even for grown-ups, in the city. You see, if you've done the work of shoveling out your car, especially from under four feet of heavy, wet snow, you have the right (okay, not legally, but streetwise) to that section of curb. You can save it for as long as you want. All you have to do is put some random object--a recycle bin, a plastic deck chair, a bucket, a children's toy shopping cart--in the spot, and voilá! It's yours for the duration. (Note: The writer of this blog has had one mishap with this theory, which both confirms it and highlights the impossibility of guaranteeing it, without resort to illegal activity. But that is the subject of another post)
We had just gotten to the point where I thought, "You know, I don't think I'll put the recycle bin out this time. Most of the sidewalks are clear..." when we heard the news. Diego, Chuck's warmer, slow-moving cousin, was about to arrive. Blizzard D was forecast to arrive Wednesday night. The temperatures, though, never got below 33 degrees, so that steady snow that fell all day Thursday only infuriated mothers and fathers who had to stay home with their children whose school was cancelled, as it never stuck. Not one flake. It snowed and snowed, but the ground stayed, mercifully, wet. Until Thursday night. As the temperatures dropped, the snow began to pile up, and the "blizzard" conditions (high wind) created drifts that mystified shovelers. How is it that MY side of the street has no snow, while across the street they have 6"?
Well, the snow is still falling, or blowing, or whatever it's doing. Shovels are beginning to scrape and clear the sidewalks and cars. Engines are warming up, as the people in my neighborhood venture out into the aftermath--or continuation?--of Diego.
Lord, have mercy on us. Please don't let any more (B)lizzards come to town this winter!
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