Blizzard in Boston

There's a blizzard on the way.  Bread and milk are flying off store shelves, as is traditional.  I'm not really sure why people load up on bread and milk when it's going to snow.  I'd much rather heat up a frozen pizza and wash it down with a beer, myself, but New England traditions are hard to break.  It has been years since we've had a real blizzard.  There is a vulnerability coupled with an excitement that goes into every really big snow storm.  We become pioneers in the wilderness (especially if we lose electricity) and are cut off from our neighbors.  We are bears in their winter den.  All of the "important" things we had to do will just have to wait.  I'm scheduled to work in the boutique for four hours tomorrow afternoon.  It's hard for me to believe that anyone will have a critical need for sequins, or that I will be willing to risk the roads for a total of about $36 before taxes.  We will see what happens.

The part I like best is the "digging out".  We emerge from our houses once the snow has stopped (or sometimes before) and clear our stairs, and help elderly neighbors clear theirs.  Whoever has a snow-blower usually does more than his share, and after a while the kids come out in their multicolored snowsuits in shocking contrast to the stark white background, and start constructing snow creatures, which they top with hats and scarves, rocks and carrots.  But that will be Saturday morning.  First we have to get through the scary Friday night of whipping winds and stinging snow.  We will listen in the dark, and light our candles, and if we lose all power we will go to our goose-down covered beds and bless our flannel sheets and get one more reminder that we are not really in charge.