Snow Day

January’s frigid temps brought a phenomenon I’ve not witnessed in Tampa since the winter of 1976 — Florida snow.  Back then, we accumulated a massive half-inch of the rarest commodity…and we watched it disappear within two hours.  33 years later, we accumulated nothing but fond memories and comments about the “Big Storm of ‘76”.  Still, it was a nice trip down Memory Lane.  I was in the fourth grade at elementary school and surprise!, did not get the day off.  Perhaps it was because the powers that be simply didn’t know how to handle a “snow day”.  Or, perhaps it was because people generally weren’t as panicky back then.  Or maybe, it’s because there are so many northern transplants in this town, the Storm of the Century was nothing more than a laughable nuisance.  Whatever the reason, our event was a rare kind of magic Mother Nature bestows on us maybe once or twice in a lifetime.  I say let the kids play.  Let them behold and wonder at life’s treasures as they occur.

Blissful dreams of the quiet white help mask the apocalypse metastasizing just outside my home office door.  For months, heavy equipment and burly men pounded their way down our streets and yards.  I still hear those loud beeps from the reverse warning beacons.  They don’t go away without malice.  Our house has sustained apparent collateral damage.  Whether instigated by the heavy machinery or not, we have floor, wall, and ceiling cracks that mysteriously appeared about the same time the construction project began.  Along the way, we’ve also endured brown-outs, power-outages, and twice they sliced our fiber optics…no matter how well marked.  Now, our previously-paved dirt street and previously-grassed lawns await (for two weeks accrued) restoration.  The equipment disappeared and all that’s left is a port-o-potty across the street—the perfect metaphor.
I suppose our neighborhood is in the eye of Hurricane John (lovingly named for the Project Manager).  I’ve had a moment to reflect on how much one can tolerate while attempting to be creative.  3D projects and homework assignments were completed, several thousand new jewels mounted in Title #2’s ring, and we ate and drank with beloved visiting family.  Sure, the squealing thunder of tracked diggers and beep beep beeps of reversing bulldozers will soon return.  We’ll survive.  The house may not.  In the meantime, I’m skiing Taos.  Well, at least in my mind.  Let the kids play.