JANUARY 19, 2023 – In these parts, snow—manna to a skier—is still falling from heaven. My wife, who isn’t a skier, would say it’s falling from hell, a thermically and directionally paradoxical perspective. I recently gained a better understanding of her disdain after I backed my car into a snowbank up at the lake and wait for a “wrecker” to extract the vehicle. Much to my frustration, I lost a day of skiing because of the heavy snowfall. Darn snow! . . . except, wait! Didn’t I say it’s manna?
From the onset of this winter, Beth has complained about it—as she does every year. I get it. If I’d nearly snagged my eyeball with the hooked end of a bungee cord pulled from the snow (see 1/10 post) . . . except . . . I nearly did! . . . or had to shovel umpteen times thus far this month . . . except . . . I’m the one who shovels (aided occasionally by our electric snowblower and by our good neighbor Lynn, who owns an industrial-gauge snowblower), I’d hate winter too! . . . except . . . I don’t!
But I’ve slipped enough on ice and snow and incurred sufficient financial pain (from hiring a crew to remove our ice dams) to empathize with people who hold winter in contempt.
Spurred by scorn for Minnesota in January, weeks ago, Beth and her cousin Kathy began plotting a two-week get-away. During the planning phase, I heard complaints in abundance: given unusual weather patterns across the country, no state except Hawaii seemed free of winter’s blast, and ironically, the Aloha State was overheating with molten lava. Then appeared the “Atmospheric Rivers” off the Pacific, clobbering sunny California with torrential rain. I worried about the potential psychological harm that winter’s widespread reach would have on a person who’s primary beef with winter is . . . everything.
I exhaled when last night Beth read the latest weather report and forecast for San Diego: warm and dry. The forecast for Minnesota, however, called for a major snow event overnight and still in full play at the time of her scheduled departure this morning. She took the local blast in stride. After all, she’d be leaving it behind. Plus, although as a passenger in our car, Beth shared the risk of a spin-out, fender bender or worse on the way to the airport, I would have all to myself, the blizzard conditions on my return to the house.
Not so fast, however. An hour after Beth flight’s scheduled departure time, I received her text, “I think we’re finally leaving. But I think we still have to go to de-ICE.”
After taking another sip of fully embellished Java while sitting in the warm comfort of our snowbound residence, I texted back, “How appropriate that you’re getting ‘de-iced’ before leaving the land of ice and snow.”
Her next text included a photo of the de-icing operation. A while later: “[The pilot] said we’re 4th in line . . . looks like we’re on our way.”
I responded with three emojis: a “thumbs up”; a palm tree; and a smiling sun.
Before she landed in San Diego, I traveled to “Little Switzerland,” and on a freshly groomed track, I logged my 53rd ski day of the season. Shoveling could wait—until the snowfall ended.
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© 2023 by Eric Nilsson
