Barely back to work two weeks, this does not bode well.
Waking up this morning, I wanted nothing more than to slap the alarm quiet and curl back up into my nice warm cocoon of fuzzy blankets until the time of day was a more reasonable one for being awake after working until midnight. Got up anyway.
Parking the truck, my only desire was to leeeeean the seat back and shut my eyes, cradled in the sleepy warmth of my outdoor gear and the cozy air of the truck. Didn’t do that either. Today is the kind of day where habit is all that saves you; habit keeps you going when motivation fades.
Walking up, the wind was gusting to twelve, maybe fifteenish, miles per hour; but well above freezing with no real sign of the incoming storm that’s been predicted to dump six inches to a foot of the white stuff on us.
Now, for native midwesterners, it’s neither unexpected or unanticipated; there’s always a last-gasp winter storm before the season looses its grip entirely. Sometimes it’s in March; sometimes the last snowstorm of the season isn’t until June. The only certainty is that it’s coming at some point, so don’t relax and put the winter gear away (or take the snow shovel out of the car) until it does.
But it puts me in mind of a predicted storm earlier in the season, where the school districts closed the schools for the day because a storm was supposed to hit in the morning. Turned out the snow didn’t even start falling until midafternoon – the kids could have gotten in at least a half-day’s schooling. The way I remember school and how they dealt with weather, if the buses could run, we were expected to attend; if a storm began while we were in class, the authorities would decide when – or if – to call the buses in early to take us all home.
Or do I imagine that we were tougher in my day?