Traditionally stormy
For the majority (overwhelming) of my fellow citizens, the 17th of March has a St. Patrick connection that is firmly focused on the weather. Yes, the idea of green beer and shamrocks holds a visual aspect, but the reality comes back to one thing; the storm. Be it just before or after, this is the last big moment of winter.
Well, we got ours this time around. Yesterday’s forecast was on target, and when I arrived home shortly before midnight my fear of famine was up and awake. Off to get some groceries before the storm hit. It did as I returned home. Fast and furious.
I wasn’t the last in, so when I awoke around 5 a.m., the front door was wide open and a snow drift had built up nicely. The final blow came as the dog awoke, assumed the figure shovelling snow had to be an intruder and came forth with the bark mode on full volume. Little matter. I pushed the snow outside and bolted things down before returning to bed.
Throughout the morning, visibility stayed at “airport closed to traffic” levels; I could sometimes see across the street. By noontime, the snow machine turned off (ran out of water?) and we prepared to clear the entry. No big deal; snow to the knees shovels well. Snow to the waist; less so. The dog did her best to distract drivers arriving in either direction and we completed our duty before the plow returned to fill things back in.
I did have some good TV throughout the day, including a movie called Dancing At Lughnasa and a tribute to the late John Allan Cameron. The day finished up with three hours on Skype calls.
