Another scorcher

That’s cold, I know, but I missed so many opportunities to do that when I lived in Tampa. How many times my mom called me and complained about having to shovel yet another few inches of snow, I refrained from saying, “Well I’m in shorts, and I’m working up a sweat here just sweeping the floor. I’m going to have to put on the air-conditioning in a minute before I melt!” I’m not nice anymore and I make up for that time now. Every chance I get, I mention that in fifteen years I’ve managed to get by without owning a snow shovel, and therefore, by extension, haven’t shoveled even a quarter of an inch in that time. It’s true that if we get winter precipitation, it is sometimes ice, but that happens once every four years, the city shuts down, and the next day it melts, leaving not a trace that it ever happened. Usually. Sometimes we lose some tree branches and have power outages, but in newer neighborhoods like mine, the cables are all buried, so power outages are pretty rare. The longest I’ve been without electricity was one summer night for four hours after a thunder storm. Other than that, the power only goes out long enough to make me have to reset all the clocks. In full disclosure, I should note that my neighbor across the street works for the power company, and some of us have suspected that he has something to do with our good fortune, but that is only speculation. (Now, if only I could get a neighbor who works for my ISP!)

Three years ago we got a real blast, eighteen inches of snow in 24 hours. My husband and I attempted to make a generic, asexual snow person, but we were out of practice and the snow was too wet and heavy to lift once made into the appropriate size ball to serve as the head or belly, so our snow person emerged into a snow cat instead. He was regal and majestic and very large, like having our very own sphinx at the end of our driveway. We used small twigs for his whiskers and stones for his eyes (please, who has coal these days). Then we stood back and admired our masterpiece with pride.

Despite our affection for him, our love couldn’t save Snow Cat from the ravages of warming. By five o’clock pm the next day, he had perished, nearly utterly. We erected a small, temporary marker in the yard next to where he lay: “RIP Snow Cat, 02/27/04 - 02/28/04. You lived but a few short hours, but, oh, the joy you brought us.” Then, a dog came by, hiked a leg and peed on it, making the magic marker run and the sign illegible.

Okay, I made that last bit up, but I did erect a sign.

Maggie, Sizing up the Extra Large Cold Cat in Her Territory

I know I probably shouldn’t admit this, but I’m actually jealous of the people in the Midwest. I would love to be trapped at home for a week, under a blanket, with hot chocolate, chocolate chip cookie dough, and a few books and magazines, all on the company dollar.

Of course, these days, I’d be expected to VPN into work, so I would also need a power outage that affected only my business complex and none of the residential areas. Barring that, maybe a really, really mean, bad person, like a serial killer, or Dick Cheney, could crash into the power pole on the main street outside my building. Someone did that a few years ago and we lost power at work for several hours. That or a nuclear holocaust are my only hopes for having my office close for a few days.

The post office has nothing on us. It’s a hard life here in the South with not a hope of a snow day for years at a time. Just the daily grind, day after Sisyphsian day. Forget the Midwest. We’re the ones people should really be feeling sorry for!