Today the cold winter days seem far away.  But it’s been a long slog here in Essex.  Following are some reflections from earlier this month when we were snowed in… yet again.  Let’s hope that was the last gasp of old man winter!!

March 8, 2013:  Borrowing words from a traditional Yale Song, Bright College Years… “The seasons come, the seasons go, the earth is green or white with snow!”  Enough already yet!!  The GD weather forecasters missed by more than a couple of inches and several hours.  For the first time in my life I found myself rooting for Al Gore!

No lights or heat, the unpredicted heavy snow falling in sheets with heavy flakes, which made looking out the den window another wondrous winter gaze!  It began snowing during the night, toes out of bed at 5:30AM and a quick peek out plus the flashlight on the outdoor thermometer was proof enough that the pretty ladies and toothy young bucks on the TV spouting the forecast had missed it again!

At least the electricity was still on!  The tubs hadn’t quite been filled yet.  Reveille!  Reveille!  Dorothy and cat Marybeth were soon on deck.  Early breakfast!  What a pretty sight as the snow pelted down, swirled by an occasional gust out of the NE.  It all stuck.

The second cup of coffee was half way down.  The lights blinked once and went off, followed by a blank TV screen.  The Internet connection stopped. We were in for it!  It was a given.  I would not be reading to the fourth-graders today, one of my favorite weekly volunteer activities.

The house chilled, more sweaters and socks, reading and Sudoku replaced dial twiddling.  By 9AM the snow was just under a foot, in many places piling up on top of drifts not yet melted from the recent blizzard.  The temperature inside was in free fall down from 52, raw and hand-cold.

Thank God for propane, hot coffee, and warm chowder and a grilled cheese later at lunch.

Dorothy mused, “Remember the Easter adventure with Graham and Jenny when they were little with, Razzie and Sue (our wonderful poodles)?”   The bustle of packing, boarding the Cuttysark, our 26’ Chris Craft skiff, and crossing the bay to La Casa Del Perro, the family summer cottage, put to bed in November, soundly asleep for the winter.  Several times I approached our dock.  The mooring posts were veering at angles every which way caused by the winter ice.  They resembled an old timer’s front teeth when he smiled.  I sent young Graham from the bow gingerly up onto to the dock, looking more like a roller coaster than a level platform.

The first order of business was to awaken the house from its winter hibernation.  I opened the electric panel in a back bedroom and began by clicking on the master switch, one by one engaging each of the circuit breakers.  Step 2, I turned on the two large wall heaters in the living room, opened the propane tank and lit the pilot lights on the kitchen stove, and bent down and lighted the oven with a long match.  Dorothy and the kids were busy bringing provisions and bags of extra clothing from the dock.  I opened the chimney flu, laid a fire and lit it, and then secured the boat for the night using the anchor to keep her away from the dock – none of the poles seemed up to the task.  The final chore was to fill a large garbage can with buckets of water from the bay needed to flush the toilet.  The water had not yet been turned on.

The weatherman fooled us.  It would not be the first time, nor the last!  Just after dinner the lights went out.  Dorothy lit several candles and the thermometer in the kitchen started downhill.  Graham and Jen had taken Razz and Sue for a long walk and filled the wagon with driftwood from the beach.  They arrived back just before the lights went off. Dinner consisted of hot homemade chowder and Mom’s prizewinning stew with apple pie and ice cream for desert.  The dogs even had second helpings.

The temperature continued down into the twenties.  Dorothy and I pushed three couches in a tight semi-circle close by the roaring fire, emptied the blanket chest and brought the bedding from three bedrooms to cover the couches.  I stoked the fire.  Graham and Jenny each with their dog, cuddled in sleeping bags beneath two extra blankets.  Twice during the night I woke and put more wood on the fire.  The temperature in the kitchen was 17 degrees when we got up in the morning.  It was so cold overnight that the glass butter dish froze and cracked in two places.  More wood and a warmer day!  Making memories at times isn’t what it’s cracked up to be.  The week was downhill from the first night as the weather cooperated, and we returned well-rested and none the worse for wear.

The highlight for the kids was the Easter egg hunt on Sunday.  We boiled twenty eggs Saturday afternoon and colored and decorated them.  I got up at the crack of dawn and hid them around the outside of the house, down by the dock, under an overturned rowboat, the boardwalk and my cousin’s house.  Graham and Jenny were turned loose after breakfast and retrieved all but two in slightly over an hour.  Those were never recovered.

Back to 22 Curiosity Lane and the present! I  was swiveling around on my den/office chair from one window to the other gazing absentmindedly at the snow that was rapidly accumulating.  How wrong was the forecast?  Plenty!!

There, all of a sudden, I looked out the window out of the window facing the driveway that leads to cul-de-sac, an apparition appeared; it was Dorothy, trudging a distance to retrieve the mail.

She was clad in a bright yellow foul-weather jacket, with the hood half way up, partially covering a maroon plaid scarf tied around her head and under her chin like a babushka. Dorothy might have been an actress auditioning for the part of Ozark Annie in a Hollywood adventure film!  But she at least was braving the elements.  I was warmly ensconced inside looking out!

The mailbox produced three bills, a number of catalogues, no money and a great opportunity to admire my intrepid wife at work.  She next filled several bird feeders and entered the front door, pink cheeks and ready for a cup of tea.

The beach story took on added significance as we reflected on the approach of our 50th anniversary and that saga nearly four decades ago!!

We talked more about the big 50. I replied, somewhat in jest, “Dear, I have it all planned. To celebrate our second honeymoon and the 50th, as good Christians and aging WASPs, we’ll fly to Rome with a stop at the Vatican, journey to Tel Aviv and visit the Holy Land, and wind up tracing our roots with a walking tour of the British Isles starting in England, on up through Scotland, winding up taking in Northern and Southern Ireland, ending with several pints in Dublin and returning home first class on the QE2. How’s that sound!!!”

My beloved replied: “Dear, you’re dreaming!  You’re never dull!  You can’t even make it to the bathroom without the sounds of your joints squeaking.  Nice thought, but we’d also need to hit the next Power Ball!”

We’ve got a year plus to plan.  Maybe I’ll enter Annie in the Iditarod, put down a few quid on her and find a warm pub in Anchorage, kick back and watch it on TV!!

Happy Spring everyone.  It couldn’t get here soon enough!