Winter Storm Warning

Denver and its surrounds were supposed to be smacked upside the head this weekend with a whopper of a winter storm called Xylia. First projected to start Friday night, the slow-moving storm didn't actually get going until Saturday at noon, and nothing "stuck" until Saturday night. We viewed anticlimactic green and brown lawns through our rain-streaked windows until last night, when the temperatures dropped below freezing. Now we have a pretty accumulation of fifteen inches but it's far below the three feet that meteorologists projected. I'd love to have a job where I could be wrong much of the time and still be richly rewarded in salary and side-deals.

Grocery store shelves were empty by Friday and suburbanites suffered post-traumatic stress as the run on groceries recalled the pandemic terror of a year ago, when shoppers around the country rushed stores for canned goods, cleaning products and toilet paper. The pandemic has created a scarcity mentality in us - or at least in me - when I'm in fear of serious repercussions much of the time. When the worst has actually happened, there seems to be no reason for it not to happen again.

I convinced Aden to stay with us this weekend as her roommates were going to be out of town and Boulder was projected to get at least two feet of snow. She rolled her eyes when she came downstairs yesterday and saw the bare roads, but made the best of writing a paper in her room and whipping up chocolate chip cookies after dinner. We played music and games each of the last two nights, recalling the days of March 2020 when we felt alone in our sinking ship and made the best of it. 

After the past twelve months, I may never lose my instinct to circle the wagons when a threat emerges. My senior son, William, warns me that he is not coming home once he sets off for college, and tells me not to expect his presence during future emergencies. I cross my fingers and secretly hope that he ends up in Boulder with his sister, so I can at least get updates on his health and wellbeing from an outside source. Though I really do want the kids to grow up and away, become more independent and less stressed as time distances us from the COVID year, it's difficult to return to my pre-pandemic mindset of trust in the universe. Not every disaster is anticlimactic, and at the moment I'm in a state of suspended animation, waiting for the other meteorological shoe to drop.

Panic of the Season

Last week the digital temperature gauge on our kitchen wall dropped so rapidly it would have kept pace with a Vegas roulette machine. An Arctic cold front moved in, along with 4 – 6 inches of snow and ice, and my good mood slid eastward along with the warm weather. Relieved when our morning workout was called off, I dived under the warm, fuzzy blanket on our coach and promised myself a few minutes of extra rest. An hour later, I staggered into the kitchen to make lunches and breakfast, wondering if I could find my way back to the coach at any point during the day. A prolonged period of collapse seemed promising.

The holidays often induce such mood – dives . From the high of opening our newly ordered Christmas photos to the lows of driving through snow and ice to get to numerous appointments, my energies and emotions rise and fall like the notes of “A Little Town of Bethlehem.” On Wednesday I prepared for the storm by organizing the yard and unscrewing the hoses. I restored the lawnchairs to order – one had been flung to the grass, apparently an incidental victim of squirrel-on-squirrel violence – and let the water drain out of the newly freed pipes and hoses. I was mesmerized by the water dripping away and felt my energy float along with it.

The kids feel similar rhythms of excitement and pressure. Between delight in finding our Elf’s new location each morning to the thrill of opening a new link on our Advent chain each night their mood rises and falls depending on their certainty of receiving special presents. I particularly love a story told by a good friend of mine about his grandson, which illustrates the pressures children feel at this time of year.

The child went with his family to an outlet mall for Christmas shopping, where they observed the miraculously short line for Santa’s lap. The parents hustled their son and daughter over to Santa, despite the kids’ protests that they had not prepared their lists yet. The daughter went first and came up with a few desired items, then the young boy took his turn. Santa asked, “What do you want for Christmas this year, sonny?” and the parents’ eyebrows raised when they heard the reply, “Uh . . . bamboo?” Upon walking away together, Mom could not resist asking, “What was that about?” The boy replied, “Don’t ask. I panicked.”

Don’t we all. When the stamps run out with 38 cards left to address, when the sugar cookies burn just as its time to leave for a party, when crazy kid behavior leads parents to threaten to “cancel Christmas,” we all get a bit crazy. It just takes a quick step back (or an extra nap) to see the humor and fun and delight of the season. Wishing you all a cozy blanket and some time to use it.