Snowzilla

06 January 2018
Story #890

R. Linda:

"Da, we are having a bomb cyclone," Guido said to me, pointing at the swirling and heavy snowfall outside the window.

"Nah, it is a bombogenesis." O'Hare, always the scientific smarty, corrected.

"Pashaw, it be a snowicane." Me Mam piped up.

"Call it what it is, a January Nor'easter," Tonya interjected.

"Em, no no, it be a blizzard fur sure." Cousin Sean announced.

"It be a snowicane, they even named it Greyson." Mam countered.

"What happened to a plain old-fashioned snowstorm?" I asked and they all gave me a "pssst."

None of us went anywhere 2 days ago. Tonya and Sean took the kiddos out in the morning, despite the howling winds, to sledge around the yard. A snowman was out of the question because rolling the white stuff was nearly impossible, Tonya told me, because it would blow away. Meanwhile, me apple-cheeked, grey-haired little Mam was making hot cocoa from scratch and getting her freshly baked cookies out of the oven. I had gone into the front room and was watching the weather news. I had turned the telly on just to have noise, but the first station that came on was a Boston one, and they had preempted programming for the day to bring you live and in person, the Bombogenesis! O'Hare would have been delighted to know he was right about what to call the swirling snow and winds that were currently freezing his fingers and toes off.

"Since when do we live broadcast typical New England weather?" I said to meself, clicking the channels to our local station. That station had cut into prior programming to update us that there was snow falling with hurricane-force winds. No kidding? A glance out the window told me THAT. Geez. I flipped back to the Boston station, and there on the screen was a woman with giant pink ski goggles on her face, holding a microphone and telling me this bit of extraordinary news that this was a "different" kind of storm. But I couldn't get over the goggles that covered half of, if not more of, her face.

"Do you know how ridiculous you look dressed like that?" I asked her under me breath. Not that I expected an answer, but really?

"Ye talkin' ta da telly again arr ye Gabriel?" Me sharp-eared Mam called.

The kiddos came in with their adult snowmen, and they all peeled off outerwear completely covered in white crystals, then sat down with hot cocoa and cookies. I strolled in meself because, well, I had been working hard critiquing the weather reporters.

It was an hour later that I went back to watch the weather reports since that was the only thing on, and there was this male reporter also with goggles, a warm news parka braving the "bomb cyclone named Greyson," and I had to laugh. I be used to these studly reporters dressed in a windbreaker, and big flapping pants to catch the wind, out in the elements getting lashed by wind, rain, snow, sleet, ocean water, whatever the severe weather of the day it needs to be broadcast live. I had to go get Sean to show him this guy dressed like Nanook of the North with GOGGLES. Here, take a look and see for yourself:

Boston stations can afford the heavy parka with goggles, or, in this case, as Sean calls them, googgles!

Now I am used to THIS:

Pants flapping in the wind, light windbreaker, no googles or goggles, brave man there. Notice that this station calls it a nor'easter —a blizzard with hurricane-force winds, all bases covered!

Our local station, well, this is New Hampshire, and we can't afford those heavy station parkas with logos plastered all over them and goggles. And indeed, we have no burly macho types to stand out there like enthusiastic snow crazies in light-flapping big pants and windbreakers. Instead, we have a lovely young woman wearing her own jacket to do the weather report, and she was a lot easier on the eyes, even if the wind and snow were pelting her face, forcing her to pull faces.

Notice New Hampshire was calling this the January Nor'easter? No bombogenesis or Greyson's snowicane.

Meanwhile, out in me backyard, the bomb cyclone, if you want to call it that, was whirling wind and snow all about the place and piling up here, there, and everywhere. The wind kept pushing the white fluff from one buffer to another:

Yup - not shovelling THAT!

We don't know our snow totals for the drifting of snow, which in my mind qualifies the storm as a SNOWZILLA. Yes, I have me own terminology, why not get in on the act too? The winds have howled for three consecutive days, and the furnace runs continuously because the temperatures have been in the double digits, which means my electric and heating bills are through the roof. Me whole neighbourhood has been cycloned to Antarctica and bombed down in the centre of it. However, the good news is that a heat wave be coming; we are expecting to reach a balmy 24 degrees by mid-week. Uh-huh, like living in Florida. It is also me dreadful luck to have furniture the wife ordered arriving Tuesday, which means I must get out there in subzero temps and shovel me arse off. I know you are happy about all this, but really, the slow limping snow dance has got to stop there, R. Linda. It be a new year so be kind because if me fingers fall off from frostbite, the blog will suffer until I learn to type with me toes!

Gabe
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