Where are all those hot flashes now when I could really use them? Brrr! The Seattle weather made the big news this week. We had snow and a “cold snap”.
If you ask a Seattle native how much snow we had, he’ll say “About 6 inches.” If you ask a Midwestern transplant, he’ll say “Oh, about 2 or 3 inches.” If you ask a full-time indoor hermit like me, I might say “Snow? What snow?” Our perception is definitely influenced by our upbringing and by our need for transportation.
Snow in Seattle, even when only 2 or 3 inches of it, causes some real paralysis on the streets and freeways. The city supposedly has 27 snow plows but that doesn’t seem be enough to master the fine art of snow removal in a city where the hills rule.
Consequently, the natives either refuse to drive on the stuff or they attempt to, and end up getting their bashed-in cars towed to their next destinations. The Midwestern snow veterans know how to drive on it but not when it’s on our perpendicular streets. The hothouse plants like me fear the snow and normally try to stay out of its way by remaining indoors.
Couldn’t do that Thursday. That was Thanksgiving Day and son Matthew and I were supposed to show up at daughter Susy and son-in-law Curt’s house. Since our only modes of transportation include Metro bus, Access Van, skateboard, bike or broom, you might think we couldn’t go because who would be willing to venture out in the “blizzard” to transport us.
Never fear. Curt is a professional truck driver who drives eighteen-wheelers for a living, and my grandson Neil dispatches and drives tow trucks. If the dinner was to be in the Antarctic, one way or another, with or without sled dogs, we would have made it on time for the repast.
And we did. Neil arrived at our house in his four-wheel-drive jeep, packed us aboard, drove to my daughter Lisa’s house to get her, and off we went, snow fluttering, sleigh-bells ringing.
On an earlier blob, my granddaughter Josie left a comment about our invitation. Sensitive about her grandmother’s usual dress code, she warned me that “shirts and shoes will be required but pants are optional”.
As it turned out, she needn’t have worried. I indeed wore shirts — three of them: a long-sleeved thermal underwear shirt, long-sleeved polo shirt, and a long-sleeved sweatshirt. Under the optional pants, I sported long thermal underwear, and thermal knee-high socks. And of course my Reeboks, heavy winter coat with an extra zip-in lining, scarf, hat, and gloves.
I am well-known for my ever-vigilant state of preparedness when it comes to the weather. Eating a traditional Thanksgiving Day meal while so dressed was rather challenging, however.
Unlike others – for instance, my grandson-in-law Joe who, recklessly, was wearing a short-sleeved T- shirt and jeans, I felt I was well-prepared for the savage climate we were coping with. I was almost disappointed when we prepared to leave for home and found that nearly all the snow had melted.
I try to be philosophical when faced with life’s little surprises. Being quite over-heated was well-worth the example I set for the children. They expect their grandmother to be a shining example of meticulous and visionary planning and, as usual, they were not disappointed. I’m pretty sure.
Octo-woman once again accepts the challenge!