When our children were young, I spent a great deal of time with a mother who spoke to her young daughter using powerful adjectives when she was about to do something risky. I believed that was more because her daughter was headstrong than she was an alarmest.
When her daughter tugged to get away while crossing the street, my friend said: "Don't let go of my hand, because a car will hit you and your blood and guts will be splatted." It was never clear if it was an effective dialogue, because I noticed that sometimes it worked, others it did not.
Last night I wondered about the way weather reports are worded. Are strong words chosen because people otherwise do not heed the warnings? I also wondered how kids who hear it process the descriptives, like "monster snowstorm." I never knew any kid that feared snow when we were kids. I thought they just got too old or preoccupied to have fun in it. (Proving that growing up was a drag.) With nine of us, my biggest fear was not being able to dig out a pair of boots that fit.
MONSTER SNOW STORM POUNDING THE EAST COAST
That is quite a visual as well. But when did the properties of the white fluffy stuff change so much? Pounding hail? Okay. Pounding rain? Eh... but pounding snow?
Whether words are are palpatation triggers to stimulate evacuation plans or battery sales or they are simply stated, as in "Snow storm expected with accumulations of up to..." I cannot open the doors this morning to let the pup out, and my hub appears to have the flu.
Perhaps I understate the situation, which allows space for the useless pang of nostalgia for an era when weathermen weather people were fifty percent wrong and when waking up to snow was a blast. My secret thought is that it will be kind of cool dropping out the living room window like something in a James Bond movie (even if it is just three feet off the snow.) Still, I do not want to have to do it every snow fall, you know?
After I snapped this picture, Champ about-faced and walked back inside. My kind of dog and with a very cooperative bladder. Still that will change, so I am off to modify the snow beast droppings!
After putting on several layers of clothing that included long Johns and a ski suit with suspenders, an enormous down jacket and my "Where's Waldo" hat, I pulled on my thick gloves and realized I had to pee. What was worse was the zipper on the snow suit jammed (and that always cranks up the sense of urgency.)
The climb out the window was neither James-Bond cool, nor graceful, and I'd hoped the neighbors across the street did not recognize me with all the paraphenalia I wore. Man, I have to say that men really lose out on the who-does-what arrangement. Shoveling really is the pits, especially a snow like this that went from fluffy to lead-weight heavy within hours.
A neighbor helped carve out the entrance to the driveway where the plows left a thick wall... what a gift that was.
After the climb out the back window to shovel the back steps I put my cat burglar career on hold...