Basically, Election Night

​We got all excited about the chance of floofy flakes.  Up to ten inches, they said. 

We bought the prediction-  then we bought all the bread, milk, and rock salt.  We made soup and stew and filled our Netflix queues with four days of distractions. 

We ignored the nagging little voice that tried to squelch our excitement, reminding us that we don’t get that kind of winter here.  We get days and days of crunchy rain and power outages,  not sledding and snow man building.

Then The Weather Channel, which watches over us from their climate controlled bubble atop a hillside in Columbus Georgia sent us their ambassador of weather anomalies, Jim Cantore.  And our inner skeptics gave way to the child-like excitement for snowcréme – for which we also bought the supplies.

At three o’clock, it began to rain.  By 7:30, we had sleet.  We fell asleep telling ourselves what a nice base of ice we were building on which our ten inches of pure white joy would be awaiting for us to wake up and begin sculpting.

What The Weather Channel and our local broadcasters knew, but did not tell us – due to wishful thinking, or collusion with the sled manufacturers, we’ll never know – is that a layer of lofty, warm air was pushing through our upper atmosphere.  Our snow was melting into rain above our heads and then turning to ice before it reached our rooftops.  We hadn’t a snowball’s chance in, well, Raleigh of accumulating ten inches of snow.  Any snow, for that matter.

But we wanted it so bad!  The overwhelming majority was excited.  If we’ve got to say goodbye to warmth and sunshine, bring on the snow!! Instead, the tiny, icy hands of winter grabbed us right where it hurt – in the hopes.

Those who stocked up on liquor are going to fare much better than the rest.  Gone are the French toast and snowcréme – we’re pouring White Russians down our throats now.