Blame me

If the snow in central Arkansas has ruined your plans or stranded your car, blame me.

When winter weather entered our forecast a few days ago, I had qualms.  Winter weather sometimes means ice, and ice is bad news.  It coats power lines and takes out electricity; it makes streets impassible even on foot for days as it melts and refreezes.

But as the week went on, the forecast models kept pushing the ice line further south.  If we got wintery precipitation, it would be snow.  And I started to think that a little snow wouldn't be half bad.

Just a little, mind you.  Last year when we got snow, it came in rather too large a package, and we didn't leave the house by car for four days.  I can take a couple of unplanned vacation days, but that was a bit much.  (And even at that, we probably jumped the gun on going out to get dinner; there was an unpleasant slide at our traffic circle on the way home that made me wish we'd waited.)

But a few inches?  For the kids to play in?  The one accumulating snow event per season that we are owed by nature?  When the university's not in session yet and no class schedule can be wrecked by cancellations?

I'm perfectly okay with that.  In fact, I started to secretly hope for it earlier today.  My anticipation was fixed on the knitting I would do and the hot cocoa I would make for kids coming in from their snowmen and snowballs and snow angels.  Imagining that the snow would somehow miss us -- or that it wouldn't pile up enough for school to be canceled -- began to be a disappointing thought.

That scenario is now out of the question; we just got the robocall informing us that the district schools would be closed tomorrow.  A couple of inches are on the ground; there are still a few more hours of snow to fall.  The only question now is how much we will get, how long it will stay on the roadways making travel treacherous, and when schools will reopen.

If it's more than a day, blame me.  I asked for it; I deserve whatever I get.