Power Prayer

Every once in a while I feel like I get one over on Mother Nature. My friend Bob and I had a meeting marathon late yesterday with a laptop clinic and a Drama Brainstorm meeting, (all good) just hours ahead of a new wave of inclement weather some of which could be ice.

Our pantry is more than half full, we have chopped wood, news papers for fire starter if need be, candles, water and a mountain of books including my new Robert Frost poetry book that I've barely dipped into yet.

On the radio they're forecasting five to seven inches of snow over the next thirteen hours. What? I'm ready for winter to be over. I'm ready for a pick and choose climate-controlled external environment.

This morning I was surprised to find snow on the ground and a notice for a two-hour delay. Yay! A sleep in!

Three, five or seven inches of snow? How much is too much? If we get a packing snow (which is in the forecast) then we'll line the drive way with snowmen. Kim P will be making snow angels.

What will you do if we get a major snowfall?

I'll be praying the power lines hold.

A Little Peace and Quiet

I know how much you appreciate a moment of peace, so here are two.

What Makes Holidays Great?

Is it snow...?

On Some Level

A glance out the window revealed snow flakes big as clover blossoms skittering through the air, landing to become one with the windsculpted snow dunes. A white-out momentarily obscures the houses across the street. In unison every kid in Franklin and Delaware County hoped to God for another snow day. Maybe it was the wind, but I thought I heard a collective “Oh No…” of their parents, I among them..

On snow days, I end up cooking far more, washing more dishes and enduring constant surge of interruptions from the family I adore. I sit in the wine colored recliner, hypnotized by the motion, while chicken soup burbles on the stove.

I should be editing one of 261 essays that make up my list of default work.
But I stare out the window and see the layer of pristine snow that separates me from my neighboors cut only by the blade of a snow plow.
I wrap my cable knit sweater around me and sip coffee and think. If I push back and hold my head south, I can watch the snow and drift off to sleep.
It's Saturday. I'm sleeping in.