I am as happy as the next person to embrace science. I like technology, and I'm not afraid to use it. I am all for progress, as long as it's forward, and not lateral, or, worse yet, backwards.
So I have been all over the global warming thing. I have recycled. I avoid spray cans with CFC's. I looked for cars that used newer types of refrigerants as soon as they became available, back when they switched from the old freon systems to the newer models, and I still had money to buy stuff.
If I had any money now, I would replace my current air conditioner with a more earth friendly system, and I would simply adore the opportunity to replace my rapidly aging fridge with an upgraded, energy star rated version. I bring my cotton cloth bags to the grocery store, and I try not to throw stuff in the landfills that can easily be dropped off for reuse, like old computers, for example.
But this morning, November 15, I got out of bed, walked to the back door to let my dogs out, and was surprised to be hit in the eye with a falling pellet of, can it be? Please say it isn't so. Snow.
I realize that many people enjoy the snow. I know that some people (people I actually know and love, for heaven's sakes,) actually look forward to it, like a birthday or the Fourth of July, because it means you get to do things like ski or snowmobile. Back in the northland where I was raised, the goofy populace has even created an entire carnival specifically for the purpose of celebrating snow. If you are one of the delusional and that is how you feel about snow, stop reading now. Just do not go any further. Because I am definitely not one of those people. And this not a celebration of anything. Except endurance, perhaps.
I consider snow an obstacle to be overcome. Or to run away from. That was the answer I found to be preferable, in fact. Which is partially why I live 425 miles away from my very own mother, who is much tougher than I am, and works harder, too. She does not hate the snow. She lives on a farm, she has to deal with getting out of her driveway when there is too much of it, and she still doesn't hate it. There is nothing you can do about people with that attitude except to humor them, I've decided.
The appropriate attitude, in my opinion, the one which I, myself, espouse and to which I hold fast (obviously,) is that snow is a barrier to happiness, and must be avoided at all costs. I'll leave it for the polar bears to frolic in, I hear they are losing their environment, anyway. (That whole global warming thing, again, although you certainly couldn't tell by the weather out there this morning.) They can have my snow. If I never again saw another flake of the white stuff, it would not distress me in the least. All snow means to me is that we are being forced, against our will, to measure the rain, and who needs that?
I am, at this moment, sulking on the sofa in my living room, blinds tightly shut against the sight of white precipitation pelting out of the clouds. When the dogs look out the door and think twice, I know it's time to pull up the blanket and hibernate for the day.
I realize that the Christmas card industry would be in sad shape without snow to sell the cozy picture of fireplaces merrily crackling and churches nestled in the glen with a shimmering glaze of white surrounding it like a clean blanket. But let's not kid ourselves. Snow is cold, it is wet, and it causes accidents. Enough said, I think.
One of the better reasons to live in Kansas City is that we do not engage in snow glorification activities around here. We are more into beating it back into submission, or de-icing it into liquid again. Winter, for us, generally starts right around Christmas, ends before my daughter's February birthday, and with only the occasional exception, consists of two or three snowfalls of varying depth with a melt in between. So the last thing I was expecting to see this morning was little pellets of snow pounding down from the sky. I went to bed, it was clear and 45 degrees, I wake up and it's 31 and snowing?
Of course, it could be worse. Here in the Heartland of the Country (that's what we like to call ourselves, because it sounds more interesting than Flyover-World,) we have frequent ice storms. I realize that people in other places have the occasional ice incident, giving them the illusion that they understand the nature of that particular beast. But I can say with absolute honesty, I had NO IDEA what an ice storm was until I moved to Kansas City.
You can watch the ice build up on your trees until the tops are bent almost to the ground from the weight. The boughs will all droop sadly, like a bereaved Christmas tree the day after New Years.
Power lines snap like spaghetti noodles, and the city will be paralyzed for days to weeks. Families huddle around their gas fireplaces, because the furnace won't click on without their electronic starters, and people get to know each other closer up and a little too personally.
I am happy to report that in the suburb where I currently have my place of abode, we do not have many actual trees, and most of the lines are underground. We have tree wanna-be's, those hopeful little glorified branches bravely standing up from the ground with their 15 leaves fluttering below. But it would be impossible to classify most of them as real trees. My point being, we have less problems with them falling on power lines, thus forcing us to self-actualize with our closest relatives in frigid climes. This, in case you were unaware, is a recipe for disaster, one which I would prefer never to attempt.
In other words, (for those who have pulled up their thesaurus, please minimize again, this is not a vocab prep for the SAT, you know,) I have never had to face a week without power, which is probably just as well. With a teenaged daughter in residence, a week without showering facilities would not take us in a positive direction, and we are not that interested in knowing more about each other than we already do.
I imagine that the snow, which is not sticking even now, will quickly dissipate and be gone, and the warmer weather will soon reappear, this little ripple of cold in the cosmos just a harbinger of things to come, instead of the forward wave of reality that it appears to be at this moment. But I am certain that the day will come too soon that once again, the outside world will become a winter wonderland, and I will find myself on the inside looking out at an unfamiliar landscape of white. Don't come around here trying to sell global warming today. I am not in the buying mood. Save it for summer, when it's 100 degrees in the shade, and then we'll talk.
Come to think of it, I had better go pay my gas bill, so I will be sure to have the fireplace ready for the worst which is to come.
