I dream of Power Rangers. Then it comes. I hear my mother reach for what could either be good or exceptionally good news. She exchanges a few words in her dulcet telephone voice and gets out of bed to come to my door. The moment of truth. Zero hour. But alas, I require much rest, and I can express my joy with a smile as I roll over to sleep for a few more hours before the red-nose, hot-chocolate filled, toboggan-launching day really begins.
Growing up, snow days were unparalleled delight. I had done my homework. I had brushed my teeth. I had packed my lunch. Instead, I just got to play, and then drink hot chocolate, and then play some more. I needed no explaining what the day was for.
Snow days were a Godsend. They were days of freedom and joy. At a certain point in my life though, my feelings towards snow days began to evolve. With winter track, I became concerned about my workout schedule. I had to compensate and run regardless of the conditions. The long-term project also had its role to play. All of a sudden, snow days were opportunities to make progress on a research report or Mrs.
Pretty soon, what had been a veritable jubilee, a day acceptable to the Lord, became an extended working lunch. Snow days were no longer a day to enjoy, but one on which to capitalize until the routine resumed.
In retrospect, I begin to think that the transformation has not been altogether salutary. Undoubtedly, we are busier now than we once were—we certainly have more responsibilities.
