As I left the DX (as Columbus State people call it) last night, the snow began to fall. I was under-dressed for this, since the temperature was in the mid-40s when I left my house around 7:30 a.m. It was cloudy and gray, but I didn't give that any special consideration. From mid-November to about March, Columbus residents speak of seeing the sun the same way other people talk about UFO or Loch Ness Monster sightings--and usually receive the same skeptical responses.
When I left the Industrial Commission at 5 and started to make the 0.8-mile walk east on Spring Street, a cold rain was falling, and I was, as usual, hatless. I managed to keep busy by re-shelving buybacks and customer assistance, so I was astonished when the work day was winding down and I saw that wet snow was starting to fall. Snow had covered most of the ground, including the sidewalk and streets, much thicker than the very light dusting that covered the grass just before Christmas.
Susie came home about 30 minutes after I did, not happy about having to walk from High St. to our house in the snow. Now that she is older, snow is definitely losing its allure. The Susie and snow memory that I will retain until the day I die was the sudden dumping of snow in February of 2010. I was lying abed, recovering from my gallbladder surgery, and Susie and one of her friends shouldered snow shovels and went all over Baja Clintonville, coming back $40 richer. They were out earning money, and getting some major exercise, while my major accomplishment that day was that I managed to get from my bedroom to the bathroom and back without having to hang onto the wall the whole way.
|One of the books I got for Christmas when I was about three or four.|
I still enjoy snow, although, as I get older, I like it more while I'm watching it from inside. I never willingly participated in a snowball fight (I knew kids in Marietta who were not above putting M-80s and rocks in their snowballs), although I enjoyed sled-riding. I was a bit of a chicken when it came to sled-riding--I stuck to my easy-to-manage flexible flyer, inviting ridicule from kids who used saucers, car hoods, flattened cardboard boxes, etc. (I have never ridden on a metal saucer. Once they started going downhill, you were a projectile, with absolutely no way of stopping until the hill bottomed out or until you hit something.)
The hill next to Mills Hall on the Marietta College campus was the one we used most often. The campus was private property, and security officers had repeatedly run us off, but we had the rules-are-for-canasta attitude that I still retain to a lesser degree, even now, and security finally gave up. It was steep enough to get up a good head of steam while you were headed downward, but not so fast as to instill terror. Usually, your ride would stop when you hit the chain-link fence that enclosed a small basketball court at the foot of the hill. It would smart a little, but usually the kids wore enough heavy clothes that it wasn't more than a bump.
Susie had school today, and I went to work. I took for granted I'd be working, since the State barely agreed to close all offices during the 1978 blizzard. I made the lunchtime walk to the Payroll office at Columbus State, but moved a little more slowly than usual, since I was afraid of slipping and falling.
The snow hasn't kept Susie and me confined to quarters. We're both at Kafé Kerouac right now, and I'm typing away while two aspiring guitarists play on the stage. (Listening to these guys, I think they will be aspiring for a long, long time! Susie reviewed them in her blog and her critique is quite accurate.) High St. looks pretty clear, and there's plenty of condensation on the windows, which makes the streetlights and car headlights look a little ghostly.
While we were walking here tonight, the neighborhood seemed to be pretty quiet, other than some music from some of the houses we passed. This is quite a contrast from last night, when the sound of the wind howling up and down Maynard Ave. awoke me several times.
Marietta did not get the full force of the 1978 blizzard, although we missed a lot of school because of the snow, and because the Bituminous Coal Strike drove up the price of heating. When snow came, it was quite subtle. I remember one Sunday night calling a friend of mine and saying, "Hey, it's snowing."
"It is?" he said, quite skeptically. There was silence on the line for five or 10 seconds, and then he gasped, "My God, it is!" He and his older brother made the 15-minute walk over to my house, and the three of us left together about 15 minutes later. His brother was disappointed, as we retraced their path, to see that their footprints hadn't been covered up. A day or two later, snow was falling fast enough and heavily enough that footprints disappeared almost as you made them.