The Weather Channel is Sometimes Wrong

Everyone who lives on our little lake says it's about 10 degrees colder here than it is at the bottom of the hill, and I guess the bottom of the hill is where they measure the temperature and all that good stuff. Anyway, it was supposed to begin snowing officially tomorrow, and it did get up to about 38 today, so I was all blissed out with today's clear skies and relative warmth, enjoying my post-dinner book and chocolate when R said, "Come here for a minute."

He guided me to the window in the den, turned off the inside lights and turned on the porch light. There it was: tiny, furious flakes of snow flinging themselves all slanty against our deck and sticking there.

I said, "Maybe it will be gone by morning," with the most hopefulness I could muster. R said no.

Here's the thing: I do love snow. I think it's all beautiful, covers up all the uglies, and I'm fascinated with the way the flakes fall and how you can follow the path of one or you can let them all blur together. It's the same thing I do when driving past an orchard: Follow one tree, let them all sweep past, repeat. And with snow, as with some trees, one can see which way the wind goes.

The thing is, I have this personality where I require leaving the house and making contact with other adults in order to be happy, preferably in a coffee shop or bookstore. I don't have to know the other adults or even speak to them, I just like to have them around. Maybe their presence requires me to act more sanely. This is why I must go somewhere every day. You know how when you're really sick, and you stay in bed all day recovering, and then when it's sleepy time you don't want to go to bed because you just spent the whole day there? At least that's how I feel after being sick all day, and that's also how I feel if I stay home all day. By the time the dark rolls around, I need out.

I'm afraid the snow will hinder my ability to get out. I'm afraid of ice, of crashing big. I'm afraid my car will break down, and I won't have cell phone coverage, and I'll be found frozen to death in a snow drift with Buckaroo strapped to my back. Plus, all the other things I haven't even considered.

Mostly, though, I'm afraid that my fear will keep me home, lonely, I'll start to lose my mind, and I'll want to go back to California for good.

Still, there are bazillions of people who live with the snow. They must get used to the driving conditions, staying indoors, snow shoeing. It can be done. I'm leaving myself sticky notes all over the house that say, "Get Over It," and I think I will. It's just that I haven't even approached it yet, and it feels like approaching Mt. Everest. Tomorrow is my first lesson in Getting Over It.