snow day




With most all conversation touching on the upcoming snowpocalypse, I wanted to share some thoughts on snow days. A snow day can go either way, you know. It can be the unadulterated, un-adult, magical moment when you discover school has closed. The not-on-the-calendar bonus, glorious, pajama day. Or … your snow day can be the incredibly disappointing, depressing realization, “Fuck me. I have to go to work.” Your snow day can be luxuriating in bed with coffee and your laptop and a thousand fabulous ideas for the next great American novel. Or … a snow day can be sitting in bed sending nastygrams to Southwest Airlines and BWI management for closing the airport when you were supposed to be on a plane to California. Southwest aside, my snow day history has typically been filled with those magical moments, lucky enough to savor days with no agenda and little responsibility. I say little responsibility because there were many snow-day-years with batches of boys to feed and clothes to dry–and those were the best snow days of all. But there is a funeral I must attend this weekend, and people are hurting, and the weather is proving problematic. The notion of setting up house under the sheets appeals for a variety of reasons, the least of which is sadness.

I hope your snow day treats you well, blankets you with gratitude and childlike awe. I hope you bundle up and take a walk and savor the snow, savor life. I hope you don’t have to go to work.


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