Kids all across the county had their wishes come true this morning. Perhaps not their fondest wishes, but you can bet that a snow day out of school figures somewhere in the top ten. In our end of the county, we had about eight inches of snow, and super frigid temperatures, enough to make it uncomfortable if the little children had needed to stand out at bus stops waiting to go to school. Even as I watched the storm kick up last night, I wondered whether living in the shadow of Long's Peak would rob me of yet another deep accumulation of the white stuff. I couldn't fall sleep last night to save my life (I'm guessing from too much caffeine too late at night), and I kept checking out the window, to see whether the snow was still steadily falling. It did keep coming down, and eventually I let myself fall asleep happy. But really, why does it make me so happy to see half of the offices and services in the county shut down? I don't have to go to school. I don't work every morning in a library anymore. Is it really a snow day for me? It takes a little of the fun out of it.
Okay, no it doesn't. Much the same way I always got excited when hurricanes and tropical storms blew over the house when I lived in one Carolina or the other, I am desperate for the big one, the snow event measured in feet. I know that there was a blizzard several years ago that left waist-deep snow even on the east side of I-25, well away from the mountains. I want one of those. I want the "shut the city down" kind of snow that makes it nigh on impossible to make it to the curb, much less to the stores or offices. But even on a day like that, I doubt I'd truly be trapped in the house for long. I live on one of the major north-south routes through town. Buses go past my house regularly. We would be plowed out early on. Doesn't mean that I will give up on my dream of seeing snow deeper than my legs are long at Smith Park West. I want it. I really do. Maybe someday.
My little compact car that I bought to navigate the narrow city streets and parking garages of downtown Charleston performed admirably on snowy roads this afternoon. I had an appointment with my rheumatologist, and I prayed that this office would be one of the ones still open. I needed to go over things with the doc, and I wanted an excuse to go drive. Before I even left the house, I watched the new neighbor across the street spin his tires trying to clear the piles of snow left on the side of the road from the plow. He had to get a push from someone shoveling the walks. Then, when I approached the first stoplight down the block, I saw someone skid when trying to drive up the slight incline from the east-west artery onto my street. I had to stop three or four carlengths back to wait for them to figure it out, and to allow the trash truck (I think it was) to drive around them, in my lane briefly. I wondered whether I'd have trouble too. I have good snow tires, the instinctive ability to steer out of a skid easily, and my route was as simple as popping over a few blocks to Main Street and crossing town the the doctor's office. It was almost disappointing, how little trouble I had driving, even as I watched people around me fishtailing and getting bogged down in the deep fluffy powder at each parking lot entrance. I couldn't see the painted lanes on the road, but I think I was pretty close to the right position on the whole drive. No one got too dangerously close to me, stopped short in front of me, or skidded into the back of me. I and my car survived the day completely intact. I really wanted to slam on the brakes to see how far I'd slide, or spin out on purpose a few times, but I behaved like a grownup. A grownup who contains her childish joy at driving on snow just enough so no one realizes she's giggling inside at how much fun snow days are to her...
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