Today we are in the midst of a blizzard. It was predicted two days ago, but even the meteorologists didn't know for sure how significant it would be. It all depended upon whether this offshore storm stayed the course or turned and went out to sea. It stayed the course. The latest forecasts call for 12-18 inches of snow before the storm is over.
This morning the world around us is covered with snow and those who demand a White Christmas are more relaxed. Those of us who aren't enamored with snow have co-opted their anxiety, trying our best to calculate just how long it will stay around.
I was surprised to hear the meteorologist, T.J. DelSanto, from the local CBS-TV affiliate, define a blizzard as having more to do with wind than snow. It turns out, according to him, that a winter snow storm with sustained winds above 35 miles per hour is a blizzard. I always thought it had more to do with the amount of snow. It doesn't. So much for my amateurish understanding of the word.
My adolescent image of blizzards comes from literature more than any other place. Stories of cowboys stranded out on the plains in blizzards. Sea captains trying to stay afloat during blizzards. Families seeking refuge in isolated farm houses during a blizzard. You get the drift.
It makes for good writing. The thrill of trying to get to safety before the storm hits. The valor of a horse or a dog who lead the way to a protected space. The cave found just in time, occupied, of course, by a cougar. And, of course, the stranded family in the isolated farm house is going to come face to face with a crazed murderer.
In reality, blizzards such as the one we are experiencing have more to do with automobile accidents, power outages, events cancelled (including Church services?), and farm animals needing food. True Rhode Islanders have rushed to the supermarket to get bread and milk, and have hunkered down in front of a fireplace, convinced that everything is under control.
There is tragedy and there is poetic beauty. Most of all there is a renewed sense of quiet, broken only by the crashing sound of a snow plow on a neighboring street and the scraping of a snow shovel on a neighbor's sidewalk. No planes overhead, no speeding traffic on the Interstate, no trucks delivering goods to local customers. Just quiet.
The blizzard will pass and normality will return. In the meantime, our frenetic pre-Christmas pace is brought to a grinding halt. Not a half-bad thing to happen.
Dictionary Credit: Dictionary.com Unabridged
Based on the Random House Dictionary, © Random House, Inc. 2009
Photo Credit: Joel Achenbach
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