The weatherman came through. The kids, and a lot of adults, got a five-day weekend, and— as of this writing— we are still awaiting the thaw of the most significant winter weather we’ve seen thus far this year.
The signs were imminent early last week. The forecast called for several inches of winter precip and the grocery store shelves started going bare.
I left Collinsville on Thursday morning to embark upon a 36-hour road trip for my day job at the University. I made stops in Stephenville, Hamilton and New Braunfels before spending Thursday night in Boerne.
I left there early Friday morning and drove to Ardmore before making it home before sundown.
It was a strange event. The rain was blowing in from the south, so I drove in with it. But the cold air was coming from the north, so I drove into that.
The two converged later and the ice started falling on Saturday.
A weekend snow event is always a gamble for the kids. Will it last long enough to get out of school on Monday?
This one did. Every snow day for the kids is a bit of nostalgia for us parents.
Though this generation is privy to instant updates on school closures via social media.
They will never know the pain of waking up early to reading the slow-moving scroll of closings on the bottom of an analog TV screen.
A snow day is the rarest kind of gift.
It is unrequested, unscheduled and utterly immune to guilt.
American journalist Susan Orlean once said, “A snow day literally and figuratively falls from the sky, unbidden and seems like a thing of wonder.”
It forces many of us to slow down and take stock.
The usual clatter of traffic is replaced by a hush so complete it feels intentional, as if the world agreed to whisper.
This feeling was amplified Saturday in the pre-dawn hours of the morning when our power went out.
There is no dark like an electricity-starved house on a dark winter night.
It is soothing, though admittedly I am grateful we weren’t without power for too long.
Thank you, linemen.
With most snow days, the calendar loses its authority.
Meetings are postponed. Deadlines soften.
Schools close, not because learning isn’t important, but because wonder is.
There is something quietly radical about an entire community being told to stay home and simply exist.
Snow reshapes familiar places. Streets become blank pages. Backyards turn into kingdoms of imagination. The ordinary mailbox stands a little prouder beneath its white cap.
Even the most practical among us pause long enough to notice how light looks different when it’s reflected off snow.
A snow day also invites a different pace. Coffee is poured without urgency.
In our case, Jennifer discarded the usual K-Cup singles and brewed an entire pot of coffee— on multiple occasions, because we knew we’d be around to drink it.
Children invent games with no rules on a snow day.
In his novel “Book Thief,” Markus Zusak wrote, “A snowball in the face is surely the perfect beginning to a lasting friendship.”
How true is that?
Along the way, adults rediscover the pleasure of doing less without apologizing for it.
And then there is the collective knowing.
Neighbors peeking outside at the same moment, sharing the same grin.
Social media fills with proof that no one is truly alone in their delight. The snow pictures fill Facebook feeds.
By the time you read this, ice will have been scraped.
Routines return and the snow days will have been quietly filed away as a memory.
But lessons linger.
Every so often, life gives us permission to stop, to marvel, to be still.
Snow days remind us that productivity is not the only measure of a day well spent — sometimes, wonder is enough.
Yet, somehow, I feel like we were just as productive this week at the News-Record working from home as we would otherwise.
The paper still went out on time. And, as of this writing, I am willing to wager it has arrived in your hands on time.
Not all our contemporaries can claim as much.
And I was able to finish a novel I’ve been reading and get caught up on some work at the University.
We are caught up on end of month bookkeeping, Jennifer has done some baking and the kids are caught up on homework.
It’s as if forcing less distractions leads to greater productivity. Who would have thought?
That is the silver lining— among many— in a snow day. I hope you enjoyed them as much as we have.