It snowed Saturday morning and stayed on the ground for a few hours. Long enough for us to terrorize the neighborhood with a multi-street snowball fight (involving only ourselves). I was the conscientious objector/documenter, of course. Here’s a slideshow of the carnage.
We got walloped the morning of Jan. 22. The forecasts had all predicted the white stuff would gear up after noon, but it started in earnest around 7 a.m. and blanketed the city with upwards of 8 inches some places. My commute to work was treacherous, and took me more than an hour. Part of that hour was spent idle on Rosa Parks, stuck behind a procession of cars and trucks that couldn’t get up an icy hill. People were out of their cars, pushing. I waited under an overpass (strategically, so I wouldn’t get buried in the snow that was still falling around us) until finally there was enough room between stalled cars for me to give it a go. I made it. My other option was to abandon my car, which I considered briefly. Not a great feeling.
Anyway, for as scary as it was, it really was quite beautiful. I was so excited to get Holden from his dad’s so that he and I could play in it, but he was not all that into it. “Let’s play in the snow!” I said. “And build a snowman!” He scrunched up his face. “Maybe later. I want to go inside where it’s warm.” And just like that, my 4-year-old turned 40.
Here’s a gallery of photos, taken over a couple of days.
Normally I try not to get too upset at winter for doing its thing. Just let it run its course. It’ll lose steam and get gone and we’ll see it creeping back in later in the year after it’s run off to have its affairs elsewhere.
Hell, I even appreciate that winter gives me a few months of long sleeves, layers, tights, coats and scarves.
But this year…
You gotta go, dude. Get.
They ended, of course. But it sure didn’t seem like they were going to.