As day succeeds day here in the Blighted Northeast I grow more and more irritable. Europe has been getting all of our snow for the last month. Now the midwest has gotten our snow. They’re struggling under the weight of feet of heavy, wet snow – the kind that brings down power lines, the kind the brings down trees, the kind that causes cardiac events in people who need to shovel it.
The kind we know exactly what to do with in New England, because that’s the only kind of snow we get.
Or got since we haven’t had bupkus for snow since Halloween a year ago.
Ski season ended a full month early last year, and it’s getting off to a very slow start this year. The days it’s been cold enough to make snow are in the sad, feeble minority. The days when wet garbage other than snow has fallen from the sky are in the aggressive obnoxious majority. The days when the conditions have been minimally acceptable equal 6. The days when conditions have been minimally acceptable that I have not been otherwise irrevocably committed to things other than skiing equal 0. The days when skiing conditions have sucked because of ice, warmth, rain, and high winds equals the days I have planned to go skiing.
I’m feeling jinxed, here. I’m sure that the owners and operators of the ski areas feel this even more so. But right now, I’m too wrapped up in my own misery to spare them any attention. It’s Friday. I should be, at this very time, booting up in the lodge. Instead, I am at home watching sheets of cold rain wrap out of the sky.
I lived in Wisconsin for 6 years, and so I’m getting a direct second-hand recounting of this tremendous storm. I’m seeing the pictures, hearing the stories.
And all I can think is “You lucky bastards. Getting real snow from the real sky.”
I shared this sentiment with Roy, who simply said “You are an addict.”
He then elaborated on that thought. “The kind that picks up cigarette butts from the street and lights them just in case there’s still any smokable tobacco in the filter.”
You know what? He’s right. And I’m still jealous of Wisconsin for getting all that snow. It’s easier to put a power line back up than it is to manufacture a wide-scale snow base.
My name is Lori, and I need to ski.