Storm Stops Shuffle: Reflections of The Snow Day

Storm Stops Shuffle: Reflections of The Snow Day

It’s 5:00 am. I stumble downstairs to my Mac, click open the high school website and read, “School canceled due to severe weather.” In red letters. Snowed in. We are officially snowed in.

Oh, the joy! Can’t drive my junior to 5:30 am baseball practice. Can’t drive to my parents’ retirement home. Scratch that. Will not drive. Anywhere. My 3 teen boys won’t get up until noon. Then they can shovel all the snow as many times as necessary.

What can I do? Well, for one, be guilt free of my responsibilities and concerns for 24 hours. For two, drink more coffee. For three, read the whole Trib slowly, while watching the white flurries veil the wetlands from my window. The weather outside really is deliciously frightful. Maybe I could read a magazine or book, or write out my goals for the next 5 years.

The possibilities seem endless this early Tuesday, March 5. But here is the question: can I really stay slouched in my recliner, so cozily wrapped in a fleece blanket longer than usual?


The snowflake multitudes blow sideways, offering peace and permission, comfort and calm. Peace to enjoy the silent winter show, perhaps its last. Permission to appreciate the amazing storm, knowing deep down that this divine interruption is a gift.

Solace from my busy shuffling of senior boys and senior parents.

Solitude to daydream, reflect, and recharge my batteries (which after the hectic weekend are low). Will it be our last snowstorm? Most likely, but anything is possible, I have learned that.

Comfort that my 87-year-old dad was not snowblowing in Wisconsin, but safe and warm inside with my mom in Illinois, a whole lot closer to our home.

Calm to think wistfully about the fun my boys will have when they wake up.

And, I was not disappointed when they did. They dutifully shoveled our driveway and the neighbors’ after a long movie, and then…


Well, you know, they threw snowballs, pushed, smushed, and wrestled (even in the unplowed street, I am sad to say.) It was the type of play-in-the-snow that high school upperclassmen are known for–at least the 2 seniors and 1 junior that live at my house.


Watching wet gear pileup on the floor, rustling up a hearty lunch, hearing boisterous joking and laughter….was a little inconvenient, but sweet all the same.


After all, I had my solitude in the early morning hours. I was ready for anything.

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    Carole Pye

    I’m a freelance writer married to thrill-seeking husband, Jim, and mom to fantastic teenage sons: Austin, (18) Trevor, (16) and volunteer foster son, Chris (18). I am also a proud caregiver for my parents, Bob, a WWII Army Air Corps veteran, 87, and Jean, his wife, 85. In between the shuttling and the shuffling of senior boys and senior parents, you can find me sitting still, enjoying a cup of steaming hot tea while pondering the next thing to do.

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