Those of you on the East Coast – and others who enjoy paying attention to weather in places where they’re not (I’m looking at you, California…) – know that there’s presently a blizzard bearing down on Boston and other cities up and down the coast. At the moment it’s mostly snowing gently, blowing a little bit, barely even sticking yet. But we’re told to expect between 1-3 feet of snow. (Yes, that was feet.)
My household spent yesterday running around like you do before such events: clearing our shopping list, laying in extra supplies, debating over buying a snowblower, running around to three different stores as they all sold out of shovels. We still have bottles filled with water from Sandy, where they weren’t needed; we have flashlights and batteries and crank radios and candles.
I’m weirdly looking forward to this evening, when we plan to take shoveling shifts, clearing the snow as it falls, taking nips of bourbon in-between. A blizzard party, with my family.
And I’m incredibly grateful that I can experience a storm like this in this way. In a warm, sturdy old house, with loved ones, safe and warm and sound. I’ll probably bake cookies at some point.
Last weekend, I participated in a read/sing-through of a new musical called Fire and Ice, in which the environmental apocalypse happens, the Great Ocean Conveyor Belt stops, and the eastern seaboard freezes over, forcing a typical American family on a Grapes of Wrath-like journey across the continent. With weather predictors calling Nemo historic, I can’t help but reflect on that play as I look out of my office window, watch the snow intensify, and hear the wind begin its unearthly howling.
I don’t think the world is going to end tonight – neither in fire nor in ice – but it still occurs to me to be thankful. May everyone reading this be safe and warm tonight, in the company of loved ones.