Snow Burned (written in 2012)

Photos by H. Darr Beiser

I'm dreaming of...December, 19, 2009

            I have been burned by the weather forecasters in DC many times. Burned by the enticement of a big snow coming, burned by the dashed hopes and excitement as dampened as the flakes that fall as rain instead of snow. In fact sometimes the weather forecasters are the only real flakes we see. But sometimes they are right!

     On December 19th, 2009 they delivered big time.  The Big One, the Winter Wonderland arrived on my doorstep, on my lawn, it filled my hammock like a big lazy lug, and covered every hill and dale and cul-de-sac. Snow--19 inches of it.  Franky had to change his measuring tool from a ruler to a yard stick.  At last I could imagine myself a bonneted figure in a Currier and Ives painting, writing Christmas cards while watching the snow fall. “Snow on snow on snow.” (In the Bleak Midwinter)

Snow Cardio

            I had moved from Tucson, Arizona for the weather, to experience weather, to get away from the non-weather, the two seasons: summer and eight months of cloudless skies and mild temperatures. Weather forecasters in Tucson have very few problems with accuracy.  

Taking a break

     There have been three substantial snowfalls since I moved here. One I enjoyed too much, and my ability to revel in the others was severely thwarted. 

      One week to the day after I moved here my dreams came true. February 11, 1983, there was a huge blizzard.  People were cross country skiing on the Washington Mall! I had never seen anything like it. I got a little too excited.  Celebrating at the local bar, I drank a few too many melon ball shooters (in vogue in the 80’s) and learned about the downside of snow and ice. I slipped and fell behind my apartment building and shattered my elbow.  I was in the hospital for a week (the good old days!) and have four pins in my elbow to this day.  My lawyer friend quickly ascertained that the apartment complex had improperly salted the driveway...whatever that meant. Coming from Tucson the only thing I knew how to salt was the rim of a Margarita glass. 

       There was another blizzard in January of 1995. This could not have come at a worse time.  Baby Franky was three weeks old and had contracted RSV, respiratory syncytial virus. Instead of enjoying the blizzard, I enjoyed a week’s stay at Georgetown Hospital, watching the little guy in an oxygen tent struggling for air. I slept on a cot in his room and flinched every few minutes when the alarms went off.  We lived only a few blocks from the hospital, but navigating that distance took Herculean efforts.  Since child labor laws prohibited Darr from enlisting two-and-a-half-year old Peter to help with the shoveling, he had to do all the work, and then bundle up the confused toddler for visits. This blizzard was the opposite of fun. My amazing sister-in-law flew in from California to help. The snow does not hold any charm for her and she went into voluntary confinement for the entire two weeks. She could not wait to get back to her “just another day in paradise” home, La Jolla.

The weather outside is delightful

            I missed the third big blizzard too, President’s Day Weekend, 2003 with an ill-timed business trip to, of all places, paradise itself.  I was sailing on the San Diego Harbor the day it hit Washington. While I was dining al fresco and spending the days working on the beautiful UCSD campus, the family here was struggling. Schools were closed for a week; our babysitter couldn’t even get to our house. I was in what most would consider the enviable position of watching the blizzard play out on television from a sunny living room in California. But I had great deal of regret about missing the one that got away.

Always coordinate your shovel with your jacket

           So thank you, fickle weather gods for December 19th, well done and nice timing. I was neither in the hospital nor in California.  This storm hit on a weekend, the day after Franky’s birthday; the house was adorned with Christmas spirit and decor, the boys got an extra three days out of school; even the government was closed for a day.  This blizzard delivered in spades and snow shovels, many of which broke under the sheer weight of snow. 

       Three days later, Franky broke his thumb sledding. The weather turned cold, no more snow, just day after day of bitter cold. Then the snow stacked up along the sides of the road, turning black and ugly, doing nothing but looking hideous.

       I have a trip planned to Tucson. I can’t wait.  I am counting the days.