A blizzard is brewing. And, for once it is not headed straight up the Eastern seaboard to the Gulf of Maine to blanket us in feet of the white stuff. A respite. By this time of the year, we are storm weary. The days are lengthening. The sun is higher. Spring is in the air. Kind of. The temps have been moderating. Up into the high 30s. A few months ago that spelled winter. Not now. Warmer days herald spring. Warmer, a relative term.
It is everything I can do to refrain from storing the two snow shovels disgracing my screened in porch (my summer al fresco dining room) back on their empty hooks in the garage, pull the reflective glass topped aluminum driveway markers and sow some seed on my browned out lawn. Winters for the past few years defy global warming. Nowhere has it been more frigid and snowy than northern New England.
Not this year. Yes we have had a snow. Lots of it. But we have had several January thaws melting the piles. February has been downright sunny. Freezing, but ample sunshine. Snowbanks are virtually gone. Further south weather is singing a different tune.
Yes, from our nation's capital and the rolling hills of Virginia horse country up to and beyond the emerald city of Oz. Southern Maine and coastal New Hampshire on the cusp. The snow line. Blizzard to our south. Nothing to our north. Wouldn't you know it? Tonight, weather maps and forecasters are predicting precipitation of the white variety. How much? Unknown. Clear skies for weeks now. Goes to figure.
This evening my darling mother is treating me to a belated birthday celebration. The Monterrey Jazz Festival on tour. A much heralded performance at the chic music hall in Portsmouth. On the snow line. A dusting here. Six inches or more there. Our collective breaths are held. Eyes glued to the weather map. Frequent phone calls to the box office forty miles from home. Snow? No snow? Hmmmm. Will we go? Or not go? That is the question of the hour.
Cheers ... and all that jazz!
It is everything I can do to refrain from storing the two snow shovels disgracing my screened in porch (my summer al fresco dining room) back on their empty hooks in the garage, pull the reflective glass topped aluminum driveway markers and sow some seed on my browned out lawn. Winters for the past few years defy global warming. Nowhere has it been more frigid and snowy than northern New England.
Not this year. Yes we have had a snow. Lots of it. But we have had several January thaws melting the piles. February has been downright sunny. Freezing, but ample sunshine. Snowbanks are virtually gone. Further south weather is singing a different tune.
Yes, from our nation's capital and the rolling hills of Virginia horse country up to and beyond the emerald city of Oz. Southern Maine and coastal New Hampshire on the cusp. The snow line. Blizzard to our south. Nothing to our north. Wouldn't you know it? Tonight, weather maps and forecasters are predicting precipitation of the white variety. How much? Unknown. Clear skies for weeks now. Goes to figure.
This evening my darling mother is treating me to a belated birthday celebration. The Monterrey Jazz Festival on tour. A much heralded performance at the chic music hall in Portsmouth. On the snow line. A dusting here. Six inches or more there. Our collective breaths are held. Eyes glued to the weather map. Frequent phone calls to the box office forty miles from home. Snow? No snow? Hmmmm. Will we go? Or not go? That is the question of the hour.
Cheers ... and all that jazz!
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