Snow day, part 2.

So what does a goddess do on a snow day, you may be asking.

Well let me tell you.

For one thing, she takes time away from her exciting life to write to you about it. Lucky you.

For another thing, she lets her eyes wander to the massive snowball fight that erupted in her neighborhood. It is interesting to live in a city neighborhood because you do not own your snow. For instance, our goddess found herself at one point asking, Why is my neighbor stealing the snow off my car to throw it at his child? Who does he think he is? I had plans for that snow! But really, because the snow is outside (just as well), it is communal snow. Redistribution of snow from those who have plenty to those who need some. She likes her city neighborhood.

For another thing, she trolls the internet for updates about the weather. Here is helpful advice for you from WYFF4 news.

For another thing, she wonders whether her day would be going better if she had bought the required bread and milk yesterday. Or what the lack of weather stripping and storm windows will mean for inside temperatures if the power goes.

For another thing, she does not go to swim practice, because it has been cancelled.

And for another thing, she reads the copy-edited manuscript for the edition that she spent the better part of the last couple of years working on. You may not realize how fascinating that kind of work is. For instance, how frequently have you had the chance to respond to such captivating questions as "Not in abbreviations list--add?" or "appositive comma >> only one associate OK?" or "page 4 of YVP 4, yes?" or "Harun al-Rashid or Harun-Al-Rashid?"

I know: you envy her. You should. This is the life, really.

Snow day.

Or more like a sleet day. Things started out as snow, and when the PP and I went for a morning walk circa 5:45, there was much contemplation of the nature of traces, as we left some, only to find them effaced on our return trip, by more snow. Ah, the pleasures of rediscovering one's city when it is covered in a light dusting of the real stuff, not the fake snow they were generating at Christmastime (with 50-F temperatures) that was made out of soap bubbles.

My new weather ritual is a walk to the Reedy River falls, to see how they look. On Christmas day, after two days of rain, they were boiling, gushing, obliterating the scenic little rocks around them. In the pink pre-dawn this morning, those rocks glowed white around the dark water.

After arriving at the only open coffee shop in town shortly just as it was opening, as using that as an omen to justify a couple of capuccinos (scusa, capuccini), we headed home, looking for our effaced tracks, to find Mike Seidel reporting live from Greenville. What would have made an authentic Upstate backdrop for his reporting would have been if the cars coming to the stoplight had slid into one another for no reason at all, and their drivers emerged, swearing.

Now the neighbor children have emerged in their little coats and hats and mittens, because nothing stings like a slushball. Schools are closed, but of course not the PP's office. If I were not so lazy, I'd take a picture to show you Upstate winter: it would have the daffodils that are blooming, surrounded by thin snow, with just enough ice to kill of the remaining blooms.

Happy February.