I only like snow in my fantasies. I’ve written books with and have had waking dreams that involved fireplaces, hot chocolate, and thick snowfall. Most of the time, my characters were inside of course, enjoying said hot beverage, warm rooms, and sometimes, heated embraces. Only once in a while did these characters actually head out into the icy white stuff and risk getting frostbite making snow angels and trying to give loved ones concussions with tightly packed snowballs. So as it is in fiction, it is for me in real life. I am from Jamaica, after all.
But when something like snowfall doesn’t happen that often—whether it’s once every 50 years in Madrid or annually for about a day or two in Atlanta—it has a certain appeal. So, with inadequate gloves and questionable snow boots on, I headed out into the aftermath of 2 days’ worth of steady snowfall (two feet accumulated, I think) to see what the storm Filomena had left behind. It was fun for a few minutes. Like the kids and some adults, I threw snowballs, fell backwards into fresh blankets of snow, even built a sad little snow person.
Then it was over.
Down to the last spoonful of pre-ground coffee, a single swish of mouthwash in the bottle, and barely enough milk to make one very necessary cup of snow-day hot chocolate, I had to leave the house for non-fun purposes. Off to the nearby market I went. And it was the epitome of anti-fun. On the whole way to the store, I had to keep a tight grip on the railing separating the walkway from traffic. Otherwise, I’d end up falling on the ice and land myself in the ER like so many people have all across the region. It’s been like a plague of the snow-fallen, apparently. Between the people who’ve wiped out on the ice and the actual plague of covid-19, the emergency rooms are getting ridiculous.
When I finally made it to the grocery store, it was a wasteland. Nary a veg except a bag of cucumbers, one green tomato cracked and bleeding on the display, and a scattering of dodgy looking avocados. The fruit situation was equally dire and there were absolutely no eggs to be found anywhere. They’d even bought out the batch of annoyingly tiny quail eggs people rarely have any use for when cooking “regular” meals. Luckily for me, there was plenty of coffee, Listerine, and lactose-free semi-skimmed milk.
On the way to the store, I’d noticed that I was the only one walking on my side of the street so, taking the hint, I checked out the opposite side for the return trip. Sure enough, the sun had melted some of the ice and left slush behind in many places instead of an impromptu skating rink. Still, it was chilly and wet and treacherous walking due to some downed trees and drifts of snow glowing yellow with (hopefully) animal urine. I was officially over the snowstorm.
Now, I’m inside again. It was -6 degrees Celsius when I woke up and the snow person someone built near the building’s entrance two days ago still looks pretty healthy. Seems like a good day to stay inside and work. I’ll leave the winter fantasies to the kids still playing in the stubborn snow outside.
PS – I’ve finally picked a winner for a copy of my book Femme Like Her, but was having so much fun pressing “choose winner” that I picked three!