How I Learned Snow Is a Liar (and Other Winter Truths)

Last November, Denniss bought me a Tesla.

It’s after midnight now, but yesterday afternoon I lovingly covered my baby with a tarp like a doting abuelita protecting anyone younger than her from the elements.

“Tú tienes frío. Yo tengo frío. Aquí todos tenemos frío. Ven, métete aquí.”

I don’t make the rules. I just enforce them.

Then, just after eleven this evening, the snow began to fall. Denniss was already outside doing stuff, so Ellena and I went out to see if he needed help.

Which, honestly, was just an excuse for me to step outside and take a few photos of her in the balmy 19-degree weather.

The snow was coming down fast. I grabbed my G7X and started snapping while she completely ignored my direction, as children do.

Eventually, I handed her the camera and said, “Get one of your dad and me.”

I think she did alright.

Everything past this point was written earlier. Before dinner. Before I had fully committed to examining my complicated, mostly adversarial relationship with snow.

You’re welcome to stop here.
Or you can stay and enjoy the rant.

—————-

Here’s the thing. Preparing for snow is one thing. It’s the ice after the snow — this particular snow storm’s little bonus feature, that promises to remove all remaining joy.

Seriously, have you looked at how much of the United States is being impacted by this potentially historic US winter storm? It’s massive.

I say this as a naive Floridian who once thought, “Hmph. How bad can it be? I survived a Category 5 hurricane.”

Turns out: snow, on its own, is just annoying. Like a Tropical Storm. Slightly inconvenient.

Ice plus wind is worse.

Ice plus wind, plus nearby trees is way worse.

Think downed trees, roofs caving in, and people realizing far too late that space heaters can go from warm and cozy one second to having a full-blown rager the next.

The kind of rager that makes that “Karen” you saw losing her mind at Target look like Mrs. Brady. A woman who never once lost her composure despite raising six children.

What was her secret? Quaaludes? Or perhaps she owes much of that serenity to Alice, the housekeeper. Am I right?

Anyway. A major side tangent was brewing there, but I’m redirecting this post.

I am a professional writer, after all. I can control my weather-related social media spirals. Mostly. But I do need to get this off my chest, so congratulations—you’re here.

Snow + Freezing rain it turns out is like that friend who's nice to your face but talks shit the moment you turn your back, and that bitch is, rude.

Because you basically have to prep like you would for a hurricane, minus the window shutters, but for frozen water that falls from the sky and lingers out of pure spite.

I am not a fan.

Also, I technically have a two-car garage. So really, there was no practical need for the tarp. Without which, this post would never have existed.

At the moment, that garage is functioning as a holding space for all the things that will absolutely, definitely be purged from our lives come spring.

Possibly sooner.
Possibly never.

If anyone has a dump truck I can borrow, please advise.