This morning at five-thirty, the alarm on my husband’s side of the bed went off and he groggily turned it off. I fell back asleep, only to be awakened by hubby announcing that, “There’s at least four inches of snow!” Then, just like a school age kid, he hurried out to the living room, turned on the tv, and waited for news that his workplace was closed.
A few minutes later, elation turned to bitterness. “Safety first, my ass,” he said. “They only care if we’re safe at work so they don’t get sued. Corporate whores!” His much-hoped for snow day had turned into a pitiful two hour delay.
In the end, he gave up and took the day off
This is where anyone who lives anywhere with a real winter is sneering: “Four inches, that’s not a storm.” True, but this is the desert and deserts are defined by their lack of precipitation, including the frozen kind. Snow around here is an evanescent phenomenon, here today, gone tomorrow, and we New Mexicans know to milk that one day for all it’s worth.
Me, I slogged my way in to work and back home again, successfully negotiating the roads which had become Disney’s Idiots on Ice. There are two variants of snow drivers in New Mexico. The ones who drive so slow that they may as well get out of their cars and walk, and the ones who’s approach is, “Oh, my god, white stuff on my tires! Drive really fast so it doesn’t stick!”
Snow or not, life goes on when you have animals. The horse must be fed; his paddock cleaned. The dog must be walked. When I got home from work, I found that my favorite fleece lined jeans were still wet from the morning walk. I pitched them in the dryer and soon after found a new definition for happiness.
Happiness is putting on a pair of fresh-out-of-the-dryer-warm jeans on a cold day.
