What's white and fluffy, cold and beautiful, and a pain in the neck to remove?

Happy New Year everyone! According to the Farmers' Almanac, this winter is supposed to be mild and dry. Usually the Farmers' Almanac is better informed and makes better predictions than most, including the folks on the Weather Channel. This year, however, the weather guys win, hands down. At an average of two storms per week, we have had snow on the ground for the past two months, and it shows no sign of letting up.

Usually I like following weather patterns, and I do watch the Weather Channel occasionally, looking for some explanations of what the heck is going on in our part of the country, which is the northeast. This year I find myself purposely channel surfing past #119, the Weather Channel according to our local channel provider.There has been a pattern of lousy weather on Tuesdays going back to early November. Why do I pick Tuesdays to bellyache over? Because every Tuesday night since early November I have been teaching a course in a satellite campus of my college, 28 miles away.

Normally when it snows I like sitting quietly in my living room and watching the flakes gathering in my neighborhood. There is something about old homes, huge shade trees, and snow that is calming and quite beautiful. I actually enjoy bundling up and taking a silent stroll around my block, sometimes with a camera in my pocket, looking at the gentle white clouds forming along the streets and in the yards. The total silence is almost overwhelming, while everything around me becomes coated with a perfect creamy blanket. I have been known to flop down without notice and create a well-placed snow angel in the yard of a friend.

When my children were young, we used to create what we thought were the very best of snowmen, sometimes with a slightly bizarre twist. I remember in particular our "punk" snowman, complete with chains and a Mohawk hairdo. Snow has been fun and creative and challenging. There were years when the neighborhood kids built elaborate igloos, with passages in between where the perfect snowball fights could be planned and carried out. Forts of all shapes and sizes sprung up around the neighborhood, along with huge piles of shoveled snow whose purpose was solely for landing, after jumping as high as possible off the top of a fort, or a wall, or a picnic table left out for the winter.

Now  I will admit to getting older and more cautious, appreciative of the beauty of a snowstorm, but full of concern when I have to travel through the barely plowed, slippery streets that come between me and my chosen employment. Yes, I am supposed to be retired, but like a moth to a flame, I am drawn to the promise of teaching just one more class. For some reason I cannot fathom, I chose a class this term at our satellite campus. Bad idea.

I love the students, mind you, and the class has been tremendous fun, but there is a weekly anxiety attack when I look at the weather forecast for each allotted Tuesday evening. I have looked with dread toward my 28-mile trek (each way!) up and down hills, around hairpin curves, and under arched overpasses with sharp turns at either opening. I have not hit anything yet, but as each Tuesday and its accompanying forecast looms, I imagine that this will be the week of sliding semis and fellow travelers with bald tires or no knowledge of winter driving techniques.

This Tuesday is the last of the term. The weather forecast has gone from snow, sleet, and freezing rain to mostly cloudy with either a rain/sleet storm or a whopping pile of snow to arrive later. Now, in fact, they are backing away from the most dire of Tuesday predictions, and my friends who will be teaching on Wednesday are in for a bit of trouble. No matter what, I will be on the road Tuesday night, teeth gritted and arms locked in position, with both hands firmly gripping the wheel. I hope the snow is beautiful, and I hope nobody needs to go out in it, and I sincerely hope it waits until Wednesday.

And next year I will not be purchasing the Farmers' Almanac