Be Prepared

It was 89 degrees Fahrenheit in Philadelphia today.  That's 27 degrees above normal, a record. 

So, do you think it's time yet to take the snow shovel out of the trunk of my car?

Waiting for Snow

The snow from Nemo the Nor'easter is due to begin within an hour.  (Actually, it will be a change of light rain to snow - just a drop in temperature.)  Waiting for snow is always an odd sensation.  Sound carries differently over snow.  Even before the snow begins, I imagine that I can hear sounds from far away.

Thankfully, I live near Philadelphia, which is often near the dividing line between rain and snow.  North of us they are expecting up to two feet of snow; the states of Massachusetts, Connecticut and Rhode Island have ordered everyone off the road.  But here in the Philadelphia area, it's business as usual.

Around here, tonight is expected to be just another night.  Only with an inch or two of snow.

Waiting for Snow

Here in the Philadelphia area, we never know how much snow we'll get over the course of the winter.  Some years it's a lot.  Sometimes we don't get any at all.

Right now, we're waiting for our first appreciable snowfall of the season.  The forecast is for up to three inches by tomorrow.

When you don't live in a terrain of constant snow, its imminence is powerful.  There is an exquisite anticipation in waiting for snow.

You remember being a child: hoping that there will be enough snowfall to cause school to be canceled.

You remember walking in a snowfall at night: the astonishing quiet of it, the way the snowflakes only become visible as they enter the cone of a streetlamp.

You remember playing in the snow.  Personally, I never understood the appeal of sleds - they looked unnecessarily complex to me.  I always preferred the simplicity of a toboggan.

Of course, the year I asked for - and received - a toboggan for Christmas, it never snowed that year.

But that's winter in Philadelphia for you.

Another New York Times Junkie

This morning I shoveled a foot of snow off my car and hit the road. After checking on my parents, I went in search of The Sunday New York Times. (Yes, I know you can read it online. It's not the same!)

I didn't see anyone out except for snowplow drivers, grumpy store clerks, and a meth addict trying to score. I think the meth-head had more business being outside than I did.