What’s almost as miserable as this past month of March were the cheery TV weather forecasters who tried so hard to minimize the misery.
On just about every evening in March, we’d hear something like this:
“Well, folks, we just might get a few snow flakes tomorrow,” the forecaster says in a sing-song jolly voice. He’s grinning to beat the band, his super-white teeth shining, cracking his knuckles, flinging and swooping his arms across a giant Minnesota weather map. “Yes, sirree! Old Man Winter’s about to visit again to bring us a few falling flakes, a flurry of the white stuff. And maybe a few drops too – rain, that is. A wintry mix. It’s going to be a tad chilly in the morning with a bit of a breeze. So now’s the time to rustle up that trusty ol’ pair of earmuffs and then bundle up snugly before heading out.”
Doesn’t sound too bad, I cheerfully console myself before heading off to bed.
In the morning, I open the window blinds to greet the day. Instead of the “few flakes of snow,” as that grinning optimist predicted, there are at least two feet of “the white stuff” on the yard and everywhere else. My car is almost buried by wind-driven “flakes” that are still falling, drifting.
I grumble: “Oh, not again!”
Later, bundling up except for ear muffs (don’t have any “trusty ol’ earmuffs”), I summon the courage to open the front door. Taking a deep breath, I waddle like a Polar penguin onto the deck. Clutching the hand railing, I slowly inch down the steps and onto the car port. That “bit of a breeze” is a nasty, vicious, howling wind from the north. I grab the shovel from the snowbank. Standing on the car port, my penguin feet start to slip and slide on an ice layer under the billion-zillion flakes of fallen snow. This must be “the wintry mix” the grinning TV weatherman promised.
Still slipping and sliding as I try to shovel, I am thinking the sing-song prophet should have advised us to put on our ol’ trusty ice skates, too – those of us who happen to have a pair. I don’t. Not since my ancient ice-skating days on Lake George.
Discouraged by the “wintry mix” and its onslaught, I stand there feeling helpless, hopeless, leaning on my trusty ol’ shovel, staring bleakly at the expanse of wind-whipped white misery. I throw down the shovel and retreat like a doddering, defeated penguin into the house and slam the door shut.
It was a daily déjà vu. That same bleak morning scenario lasted all through March and even into the first part of April. I’d get my hopes up, foolishly, every evening while watching the jolly “Minnesota Nice” forecasts, and in the mornings my hopes would be buried again by too many “flakes” and “wintry mixes.”
All those smiley forecasters should take a course called Winter Reality 101. Then they might learn to accurately predict winter days in March.
A frowning forecaster will then say something like this: “Listen up, folks! We’re in for a killer attack of snow and ice build-up tomorrow. Temps as low as 20 below. Ferocious winds with gusts up to 55 miles an hour. It’s going to be as cold as that day when Hell freezes over. Do NOT leave the house. Do not go to work; call in sick. And don’t put on any trusty ol’ earmuffs or a pair of good ol’ skates, even if you can find them. They won’t do any good. If you leave the house, you’ll get almost instant frostbite. You’ll slip and fall on your butt if not on your head, too. So don’t be a dumb ass; don’t break your bones and get a concussion. Stay put. And don’t say I didn’t warn you!”
Now that’s more like it. Thanks for the warning.
