Growing up, and living most of my life, in eastern Pennsylvania just outside of Philadelphia, I am no stranger to the words snow day. As a kid, those words were magical and freeing. An unexpected day off. A mini holiday. I can remember listening to the radio as they called the school closing numbers, or watching the TV for the announcement that school was closed. A snow day meant being a little lazier in waking up; getting bundled up in the morning; playing until being nearly frozen in the early afternoon; eating some lunch while our clothes dried; and then usually a big snowball fight and more playing until dinner time. We built snow forts and snowmen and made snow angles. The older kids shoveled snow for money. There were no cars on the roads and everything was covered in white. We would walk around ignoring sidewalks and lawns and curbs – trudging through the snow as though we were exploring some strange moonscape.
Oddly, as a parent and an adult, some of the same feelings of unexpected relief and freedom were still associated with the words snow day. I’d still watch the morning news (or check online) to see if my daughter’s school was canceled and the world woke up a little more slowly and with less urgency. Play was usually replaced with shoveling, and in the days before working from home was ubiquitous, it pretty much was a day off.
Today, here in central Pennsylvania, and for much of the east coast, they’re predicting a major snowstorm. In my area, we can expect over a foot of snow and maybe as much as 15 or 17 inches. With that much snow, it’ll be hard to go anywhere for the next day or so – which has a noticeable effect on the psyche. Knowing that they’ll be stuck inside, people rush to the store to get the essentials: bread, milk, eggs, toilet paper, alcohol. It’s as if for some, it’s a time to bake or have big breakfasts or just ensure there’s enough booze to get them through.
I’m not above feeling this way. This morning, I was tempted to make for myself the type of breakfast I usually reserve for the weekends (I didn’t). Last night, I stopped at the liquor store on my way home to get a couple bottles of wine (I had more than enough at home already). I eyed up the bread and began estimating how many days of lunch I had or if I’d have to skip the toast with my hot chocolate (though seeing that I don’t have any chocolate – I’m clearly unprepared). It’s strange to feel like I need to stockpile. The urge is almost unrecognizably something beyond the self – as if it’s written in our DNA. As one article explains, stockpiling (especially perishables) doesn’t make a lot of sense, but is probably more about having a sense of control than it is anything else. Buying perishables is a way of telling ourselves that we won’t be stuck in this forever.
Now, being single with no kids in the house, and not geographically close enough to be responsible for parents or in-laws, I have only myself to look after. Snow days feel a little different. Working remotely steals some of the joy of a snow day, and with so many schools being virtual, kids are being robbed of that small gift of freedom. All of which points to what sometimes feels like an unhealthy expectation of weekday productivity – or maybe we just need that contrast every once in a while – the unexpected day to go play. I was scrolling through Twitter last night and read that some schools, despite being virtual, are closing for today’s snow day – their message was simple: be a kid. It’s nice to see there’s still some magic in a snow day.
