Got Snow? - A Rebuttal

At the risk of turning the GAY e-magazine blog into our “Point/Counterpoint” column and with all due respect to Ms. Ripper, as a current resident of the DC/VA/MD metro area who spent the better part of the weekend living through “Snowmageddon”, I am compelled to respond to her blog post.

One-to-two feet, you say? You’re not even close. I measured three feet at my suburban Virginia dwelling. Yes, I had plenty of time to get outside and measure since my electricity was out from ~ 3:30pm until ~ 11pm on Saturday. I mean, why stay indoors where my living room is a balmy 57 degrees when I can go outside and shovel for hours? (BTW, Mom – thanks for all those cheesy battery-powered candles you bought on QVC and bestowed upon me over the years. I pulled them out of the spare room and fired them up all over the house as darkness fell.)

This was a storm unlike any I’ve seen in my 40+ years here in the DC area. If I never see a snow shovel again, it’ll be far too soon. I shoveled ~ 8” at 11:30pm Friday night to get a “head start” on the task, only to go out again mid-blizzard at noon on Saturday to find another two feet to deal with. Even when the snow had stopped, several more rounds of digging out were necessary to un-do the damage done every time a plow attempted to clear the street (a task that lead to the erection of an ice wall at the end of my driveway each time). For this, I pay homeowner’s association dues!

As for us snow rookies and our grocery store compulsion, I’ll confess that I was amidst the swarm of shoppers who descended upon the local Safeway Friday afternoon. While my brain understands I won’t be trapped for long, my stomach views any large snow event much like a holiday, a time during which it’s permitted to ingest items otherwise off limits. (Those just-add-butter-and-an-egg oatmeal chocolate chip cookies were delicious!) My fridge is now loaded with Cincinnati chili and a pot roast, complete with carrots, onions, and potatoes. Got snow? Got leftovers!

Call me what you will, but as I sit here with every muscle aching from relocating untold quantities of snow, watching the Super Bowl alone as I dare not venture out on the frozen streets in my Mustang, I feel a sense of accomplishment. It may not be much in the eyes of a Michigan-ite, but I survived Snowmageddon – and lived to type about it.

Candy Parker