Episode 38: Snow Day

You are getting ready for an early bedtime, as a snowstorm settles into the Neighborful Valley. You wash your face and brush your teeth, tasting the sharp mint of your toothpaste. You dry your hands and shuffle back into your bedroom, your feet warm and cozy inside your fleece slippers. There is a dim pool of light from the lamp on your nightstand. You sit down on your bed, running your fingers across the smooth fabric of your duvet cover, and you take a centering breath. 

Your phone chimes as Grace texts you from across the street, asking, “Are you doing all right over there? Is your house staying warm?”

You say, “Yes, all good. Thanks so much for looking over my furnace this morning.”

Grace replies, “Happy to do. We just want you to stay snug as a bug in a rug. Good night.”

You plug in your phone, and then turn on the clock radio on your nightstand to hear the latest updates from the local radio station. The announcer says, “This is KNV Radio, your news authority in the Neighborful Valley. The big story tonight is another snowstorm passing through today, with a total of 8 to 12 inches of snow and sleet expected on top of our existing snowpack. All Neighborful Station residents are kindly asked to remain home tonight, so that our snow clearing teams can complete their work. KNV news time, 9:16.”

You switch off the radio, kick your slippers under the edge of the bed, and slip beneath your covers, listening to the sleet brushing against the side of your house as it swirls through the air. You pick up your book from the nightstand, and you read until your eyes are tired. You turn off the light, settle into the warm cocoon of your bed, and close your eyes.

Off in the distance, you hear the muffled rumble of a snowplow making its way down your street. Even through your closed eyelids, you see the bright yellow-orange flashes from the safety lights atop the cab, bouncing off the icy landscape and through your window, as the plow makes a slow pass down your block. Then, you hear it backing up as it reaches the end of your block, at the intersection with Stevens Lane. You reopen your eyes to the hypnotic sight of tiny snowflakes and ice pellets falling from the sky in gathered waves outside. A few minutes later, the plow comes by once again, and the strobing safety lights make it look as if the falling snow is frozen in place. You relax your gaze and let the scene fall out of focus, as you take a sleepy breath.

Early the next morning, you step out on your porch in your fleece slippers, wearing your winter coat over your pajamas. You stretch your arms over your head with a big yawn. Even though you have already seen a few snowstorms this winter, you enjoy watching the work of the snow clearing team. Front end loaders are picking up the plowed drifts of snow from the sides of the road, carrying it down to the end of the block, where a huge machine is melting the snow and pouring the weather into the storm drain. A miniature plow is working its way down the sidewalk, pushing snow toward the street to be picked up and taken away, and scattering sand in its wake. By the time your ankles start to get cold, the road, the sidewalks, and the driveway entrances have all been completely cleared and sanded.

But there is still some shoveling to do, as everyone unearths their front steps and walks. You make quick work of your own place, after donning all of your snow gear. Just as you scoop the last shovel from your front walk, Matthew comes over to ask, “Would you mind to come with me and dig out Pat down the block?”

You tell him, “Yes, I’m happy to do. Last time, she gave us oranges from the shipment her cousin had sent from Florida. I always enjoy being paid in fruit.”

By the time you reach Pat’s house, a couple of kids from the neighborhood have already finished the job. Pat and her sister Elise are together on the porch in their nightgowns and long winter coats, sitting on their walkers. A hefty box marked “Valencia Oranges from Polk County” sits on the floor between them. You pause for a moment, watching the neighbors all around you working together to clear the remaining snow, and as you catch the faintest hint of citrus wafting from the porch, you take a crisp breath.

Elise calls out, “Hello, You! Hello, Matthew! Isn’t the snow beautiful? I stayed over last night so we could make hot cocoa and sit by the fire.”

Pat says, “Matthew, you look absolutely dashing with those rosy cheeks.” 

Matthew blushes and looks away, muttering, “Thank you, Pat.”

Elise reaches into the pockets of her coat and produces knitting needles, some yarn, and a single, colorful sock. You notice a basket of unmatched socks at her feet, and she says to you, “Oh, these are for the Sock Hop next weekend. We host a dance at the Care Center for the middle school kids, and we make them socks to wear.”

Pat adds, “They like to slide around on the dance floor, like that, um… what were the cars doing in that movie from Japan we really liked?”

Elise says, “Drifting.”

Pat slaps Elise’s shoulder and proclaims, “Right! Drifting. The kids do that. In their socks. Because they can’t drive yet.”

Elise pauses at the end of a row in her knitting and looks up, saying to you, “We could use another chaperone for the dance. We try not to ask the schoolteachers. They do enough already. But what do you think - can you join us?”

You tell her, “Yes, absolutely. I’ll dig out my dancing shoes.”

Pat says, “Or your drifting socks. Either way.”