I hate snow. Anyone who’s known me for more than 5 minutes knows that I hate snow with a burning hatred that I reserve for few things. There are many reasons for this hatred – one of them is the hours long coverage of these events as if OMG we’re all gonna die, we’ve never seen a snowflake before, the roads are currently wet but in five minutes, nope, they’re still wet!
When I was a kid (yes, I’m old, cue the “get off my lawn” comment) the weather was a five minute – if that long – segment of the news. (Of course, back then the news was actually news and not what the media wanted you to believe).
I’m not sure when exactly it changed, or why. I remember when I moved to PA thinking that people sure made a bigger deal out of snow than they did in Upstate NY, where I had lived all my life. I went to college in Oswego, on Lake Ontario, where blizzards were frequent, snow that wasn’t measured in feet wasn’t worth a mention, and we rarely missed classes. If we did, we still managed to make the trek into town to hit the liquor stores and the bars, which never closed. Granted, we were kids, we were young and stupid, but no one panicked – not the professors, not the administration, not the police, not the people who lived in the town.
If you didn’t have to go out – except for liquor – you stayed home. You didn’t need three or four days to “prepare for the storm!” because anyone with common sense has enough food to last a few days, and if you live in an area where you get snow, you should know to have water and an alternate source of heat. You know to have a vehicle that will go through snow, or you stay home. You also learned to drive in this shit – get off the brakes, get off the ass of the car in front of you and slow down. And turn your damned lights on.
We’re supposed to get 10 inches today and another 6, maybe, tomorrow. A week ago, my weather app – which I have so I know how to dress for the park in the morning – said that we were going to get 41 inches today. Umm, yeah, that’s a good bit of snow, might be cause for concern there except it’s a week out and no one gets it right that far out. No one. As the days rolled on, it went down to 24 inches, then up to 31, down to 6 (that was my favorite) and finally settled last night.
It was supposed to start at 10, so Maverick and I toddled off to the park, dressed in 5000 layers (another reason I hate winter, I hate feeling constricted) and walked one loop because when we got to the car it was starting and I’d rather not be on the road in snow. I feel that way mostly because of other drivers, but also because I have the driveway from hell and I try not to have to navigate it when it’s snow covered.
So Bear has the news on. It’s an hour program, and I think that 45 minutes has been devoted to the storm. We got the requisite Covid update (we’re all gonna die unless you never leave your house again) and the requisite “baseless accusations of fraud” minute (try watching one of the hearings and tell me there’s no basis for fraud allegations, but I digress) and then it was weather. We now know how the plow drivers plan, how they inspect the plows, how much salt and sand is available, how horrible a person you are if you pass a plow (no, you’re not horrible, but you ARE an idiot) and a whole lot more than I really care about. (I would have turned it off, Bear has a death grip on the remote, so I’m just trying to ignore it)
THEN, I hear the announcer say that we should all “shelter in place” this afternoon. Umm, are you serious? We are supposed to be THAT afraid of snow that we “shelter in place?” To me, that phrase means something really really serious is happening, like the country has been attacked, or there’s an axe murderer in the woods behind my house! (I seriously think there is one back there, but that’s another story)
I knew there was something wrong when we were told that we can’t go outside without a mask because of a virus that has a huge recovery rate. I wondered how people became so easily frightened. Now we’re to hide in our homes because of a snowstorm, one that our grandparents, or great grandparents, would have simply saddled up a horse, hooked up the sleigh and gone on about their days till it was over. What the hell has happened to us? Do I want those days back, of candles and fireplaces and frigid homes and lack of indoor plumbing? No, I don’t, but I sure wish we could recapture the courage and strength they had.
We are willing to believe that we’re going to die from a virus that for some is indeed deadly, and for others no worse than a bad cold. We’re willing to believe that the government knows better than we do what’s best for us. (They don’t, and if you think they care about you, think again, they care that you’ll keep them in power). We’re willing to believe that we can’t survive a simple snowstorm without someone telling us exactly what to do because hey, why think for yourself?
I’m tired. I’m tired of people not using the brains they were born with. I’m going to quilt and clean today and maybe bake something. Yeah, I am. I figured that out all by myself without anyone telling me what to do.
Stay home, stay safe, die slowly in fear. Or go live. You choose.