I forgot to say thank you

So this is me, cleaning up.

Connecticut had a snowstorm yesterday and things mostly shut down moved online, and boy, do I miss Real Snow Days).

I spent the storm sitting in my house under an electric blanket watching “Perry Mason” in between Zoom meetings and grading. I wandered out to get the newspaper (which arrived on time and I LOVE NEW ENGLAND FOR THAT). I went looking for snowshoes and when I didn’t find them, I settled back onto the couch with the shades up. It was like living in a (heated) snow globe.

Occasionally, my Zoom meetings were interrupted by a snowplow going by, but I didn’t think much of it. When I went out to shovel my driveway, a snowplow driver (who looked like Santa) stopped by and told me not to bother with the wall of snow he’d just deposited there, that he’d come back later and clear it.

I went back inside to see if the daughter-in-law on “Perry” had, in fact, pulled the trigger, and sure enough, Santa came by later to clear the top of my driveway.

In between, I fielded emails and texts from family members asking how I was surviving and I reminded myself that I do the same thing when I see scary weather reports from back home. We have had to remind each other than yes, we’ve had a lot of rain but if my house-on-a-hill floods, my family in Missouri should climb the closest tree because that means flooding in the Missouri Ozarks, as well. And they’ve been able to remind me that a tornado can actually skip over Joplin.

I’ve also been able to tell them that people back here know how to do snow (save for the first storm of the season, when people seem to get stupid and forget everything about, say, driving). Yesterday, Santa went by in the plow no less than four times, and I do not live on an important street.

So thank you, snowplow drivers. You made a big ol’ storm seem like no big deal. When I left the house yesterday, the roads were essentially dry. I hope the drivers spent a sunny Wednesday catching up on sleep.