Snow Flurries: No Worries or Hurries!

My white Christmas is taking its time

Better late than never?

I think those might be fighting words for some anti-winter people.

All I know is that I felt like Bing Crosby crooning about my town’s first snow two days after Christmas.

I spotted the first snowflakes about 4 p.m. that afternoon. Even before sunset, the sky flip-flopped between black and a silvery gray.

Living in the upstairs of an apartment building, I enjoyed an aerial view of the subtle change in the weather. These snowflakes looked like descending ticker-tape confetti. Others looked like stray feathers from a pillow fight.

The few apparent snowflakes glided in slow motion. I thought an Olympic TV reporter would analyze the movements of each bit of snow, just like the crashing figure skater who is scrutinized by reporters.

I thought of two Christmas toys from my childhood while studying the occasional flake that crashed into my window pane.

First, I thought of my Spirograph. These snowflakes were geometric marvels. They were wet works of art.

Then, I remembered my Etch-A-Sketch. The particulars of each snowflake changed as bits melted. As one line shortened, an edited shape appeared. No twirling of toy knobs required.

My outside view was limited to two windows. How were people on the ground reacting?

Well, the snow was attracting attention, but for all the wrong reasons. Cars seemed to be zooming toward the grocery store parking lot across the street.

All it took was one snowflake to hint at a possible blizzard. These motorists were hellbent on getting the must-have vital supplies:

1. Toilet paper

2. Milk

3. Bread

4. Eggs

I thought at least one driver would pause in the parking lot to look at a few meandering snowflakes.

Not at all. These folks were readying for in-store wrestling matches. With demand high, everyone assumed the supply would be low.

Last winter, I asked a grocery store veteran his winter opinions as he pushed groceries to my car.

Did paranoid shoppers armed with TV weather forecasts phase him?

“Nah,” he countered. “It’s the same bunch of people every time the first snowflake appears. They say they might not be able to get to the store for days following a blizzard.”

My grocery assistant paused. He looked about the parking lot to see that we were alone.

“But you know what? Those same shoppers will be at the store the next morning when we open up!”

Feelings of winter worry escaped me. Of course, I had missed out on TV doomsday predictions about “parts of our viewing area could get as much as…” I decided to stroll about the neighborhood, savoring the gentle snowfall. I was a Fan Club of one.

Soon, the unappreciated sampling of snow disappeared. The above-freezing temps meant the beautiful flakes turned into the makings for polite puddles.

I posed for a consolation-prize selfie in the apartment house lobby. A four-foot-tall snowman facsimile glowed with innards of white lights. Just the thought of snow made this guy grin.

The next morning, I saw what looked like a dusting of powdered sugar on the lawns and the rooftops. While a few degrees less made the landscape more snow-friendly, the downfall from yesterday got downgraded to mostly-invisible history.

All the wishful thinking in the world couldn’t recreate a white Christmas for this year.

But 2024 holds unlimited possibilities. Just hope I don’t have to invent a song called “White Easter.”

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