No Snow Days

The Twin Cities are currently cleaning up after the…fourth or fifth? I forget…big storm of the season.

Somewhere between a foot and a half and two feet of snow fell from Sunday afternoon to Monday evening, on top of the more-than-a-normal-winter's-worth that we'd already had by the end of January. The snow mountains at the end of my driveway are nearly as high as the roof of my car, which makes me very glad I live on a quiet street and mostly don't need to worry about backing out into traffic that I can't see.

The side streets are getting narrower and narrower. Walking down sidewalks is like walking through a tunnel. Most of the parking lots have lost an entire row to the snow-mountains. Snow plows have gotten stuck trying to clear particularly heavy drifts. I shoveled through a smaller one by my back door this morning - it was only about thigh-deep, not enough to stop a plow, could one have reached it, and really not so bad compared to the waist-deep one that I dug out back in December (I got smart this time, and went out halfway through the storm to shovel.

In short, it's great weather to stay home in.

Of course, I stay home most of the time anyway. That's the thing about being a full-time writer; you don't get to call in to work because your driveway is drifted shut and the plows haven't gotten to your street yet. The work is always right there with you.

This seems particularly important to notice this year, when we've already had so much snow (according to the National Weather Service, even if we do not get even one more inch of snow this season, it will be the 2nd snowiest winter on record…and we're not even to March yet, and March is historically our snowiest month).

There's something about being trapped in your house by foot on foot of white stuff. It's quieter than usual, even on a quiet street (at least until the neighbors rev up their snowblowers). Even with the undone housework, the piles of unread books, the TV, the Internet, and oh, yes, that book that's due pretty soon now, there's a peculiar feeling that one ought to be able to take the day off. The thought of relaxing with a cup of hot tea or cocoa in front of the fire all day is tempting. Seductive.

But the thing about writing is, it can still happen under these circumstances. Heck, it can still happen under far worse conditions - as long as one has pencils and paper, it doesn't even matter if the power goes out. And just because other people couldn't get in to work until well after noon, it doesn't mean I got to take the morning off.

This is where I pay for not having that commute every morning and evening that normal people complain about. (Well, OK, it helps a lot that I don't feel any obligation to get out and go slipping and sliding around on the half-plowed streets the very minute the snow stops, just to convince my boss that I really tried.)

1200 words Monday, while watching the snow pile up. It really is pretty when you don't have to go out in it. Even if you still have to work.