Snowy Aftermath

So we got a bit of snow this week. ;)

They called for 18 inches. That sure sent folks into a panic! There was a run on de-icing salt, shovels, bread, milk, and eggs. I couldn’t tell you what the stores were like before the storm; I avoided them. I’d rather eat the last can of soup at the back of the cupboard than engage in the frenzy. Plus I keep the freezer stocked for times like these.

Luckily (?), only 9 inches fell.

No one ever said “only 9 inches” unless they were expecting 18. It’s still enough snow to muck up pretty much everything.

Temps have been consistently below freezing and will continue to lurk in teens and twenties. Meaning, it’s not going to melt anytime soon.

If you’ve never had the pleasure of a hefty deposit of winter on your doorstep, here’s what really happens in the trenches.

It’s mystical and magical for a minute. Everything looks sparkly and clean. Until it doesn’t. Then it’s mounds of dirty, slush frozen and slippery, for who knows how long.

Plows come (or they don’t) and push the snow to the sides of the street, allowing traffic to pass, but creating a wall that blocks in all the cars parked at the curb. I’ve seen several vehicles with snow packed all the way up to the windows. Good luck getting out of there!

When you go to dig your car out, where do you put that snow? Yesterday I saw a fellow visibly irate and curiously petulant, alternating dumping piles on the sidewalk and in the middle of the street. I captioned this scene, “That’ll show ‘em” . He certainly showed me, a pedestrian who had to cross the street, which involves climbing over those aforementioned walls of plowed snow.

It got me thinking about how a crisis brings out the best and the worst in people. Maybe you’ve seen this on the news?

Heroes are birthed in times of trouble, when ordinary people step up to the plate. When someone notices something that needs doing and does it rather than waiting for the authorities, pontificating, complaining, or waxing poetic on social media.

Ordinary heroes who check on the neighbors and share casseroles or help with transportation. People who come out of the warm house to help someone stuck in a drift or fetch supplies from the store. Who remember to support the small businesses nearby that are most definitely challenged by logistics and reduced traffic and the utter lack of parking spaces.

Then there are those who are just quietly doing their own thing. They wait patiently for the garbage truck to move along without needing to jam up traffic even more by trying to pass when the roads are already compromised. I’d say this is the majority. People who want to do the right thing and are just trying to get through the day.

And then we have those whose lack of awareness or concern causes more trouble for those around them. Like the guy deliberately shoveling snow onto the sidewalk, the … person who passed me on a two-way residential road that was essentially one lane, or the people who can’t park close to the curb, so they just park in the street.

(Parking is a big deal! There are actual fights that break out over hard-earned spots and the sometimes ridiculous efforts people go to for saving them. It’s a whole thing here in Philly.)

Compared to what’s happening in the world, this storm is just a tiny little blip. But it has been an accurate mirror, reflecting on our small screen what’s happening on the big, global screen.

We all have a choice about who we will be when the pressure rises. This is a call for the slumbering ordinary heroes. You need not leap tall buildings in a single bound like Superman, but I wonder if it’s possible to do one small thing today that will ease someone’s suffering. And at the very least, can you please not pile snow back on the sidewalk?

When I returned home from this walk, I took a moment to look up at the moon, hovering low in the sky. Just as I did, a hawk flew above me, quite close. Close enough to make me gasp. I chose to receive this as a message of hope. Of the mysterious nature of the divine, the possibility of change, and how it can come overnight. Like a big ole blizzard, transforming the entire landscape while we sleep.

You’ll notice that there are typos here. This piece was written by a live human being without any artificial support. Like me, my writing is real, imperfect, and soulful.

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