The meteorologists are in their glory. For the first time in this long Massachusetts' winter, there is a storm flexing its muscle on their radar screens. And to top it off, it is poised to hit on Valentine's Day. How poignant. Florists are jumping into the frenzy, offering floral deliveries early. Snow should never deprive someone's sweetheart of her roses, nor the florist of his seasonal cash.
I'm trying to keep my own excitement in check. I'd love a day off, a no school day! The kind of day to bring a cup of tea and the morning paper back to bed, while the wild winds howl. The kind of day to skip the gym, and get exercise shoveling the driveway, and bringing in wood for the wood stove. The kind of day to bake brownies, and get to lick the bowl because the one kid still at home is not interested any more. And if he were, he'd give it to me anyway. He's that kind of a son. Never mind that it will be winter vacation in four days. I prefer serendipity.
I try to stay realistic. I live in the changing to sleet and rain part of the weather map. I've been disappointed too often by overly zealous forecasts. I've spent too many winter nights in fitful sleep, waking to listen for the rumble of snowplows, only to see the blades of grass standing tall in an inch of snow. I've grumbled about never paying attention to the weatherman again!
But I do pay attention, I listen a little, skeptically, but still, I listen. And I keep my fingers crossed that realism will be thwarted, this time. The Valentine's Day gift I want is a day off.
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