My old stomping grounds--Washington DC--is apparently expecting two feet of the white stuff. So many memories--being hip deep in snow and slowly tumbling over sideways and my daughter, then about 8, laughing hysterically. People cross-country skiing on Connecticut Avenue. Getting the last bottle of milk off the smeary shelf in the store.
Updating the scene: Now--I read--the delivery apps are doing two and three times their usual business to get essential liquor and other goodies into homes, where the federal employees will await, having been let off early. The mail carrier, Dominos--are you artifacts of a distant age as Ubers creep through the unplowed streets?
It all takes on a holiday atmosphere--off work, a snow day...all memories of trying to get home Wed and Thurs with one inch of snow now in the rear view.
Monday the little kids will tune into radios to hear which schools are closed...or do they do email blasts now or something. The radio? Where have I been? Oh, that's right--the desert.
And if it doesn't happen--and I have found when widely heralded like this, it often does not--well, I had the memories.
If you want all this to be bittersweet, come on out to Arizona--where all the flakes are human.