Invisible Snow Days

I have nothing deep to say today; in fact, the only deep thing around here is the pile of essays that need to be graded by Tuesday. Certainly the snow is not deep, maybe two inches and shrinking fast. We didn't get the big blizzard that hit Columbus, much to my dismay. I was hoping for a day or two of North Dakotan nostalgia. I also wanted a good half-foot of snow to cover up the tire tracks that betray how incompetent I am at backing out of our long, narrow driveway.

And yet, tomorrow's another snow day, or at least a two-hour delay, though the snow ended yesterday afternoon. Early this evening, the district had canceled school entirely. By 7:30 they'd backed off and called a two-hour delay. Tomorrow will be pure chaos – wheee! Heaven knows how many people will actually get the news and send their kids to school.

During our usual round of phone calls to make arrangements, a friend of mine reported that the principal had told her to expect at least a delay because "the snow might melt." Seriously.

We've now had eleven (11) (XI) snow days. Tomorrow would make twelve. Maybe half have been legit. The first five are freebies, but even so, school will definitely stretch into mid-June. The teachers complain the kids haven't learned jack during the past month. The kids are actually begging to go to school; one of the neighbor girls has dubbed the superintendent "Mr. Snow Day." The parents are 1) certifiable and 2) plotting to riot.

O North Dakota! I was the least hardy of your daughters. But here in Ohio, I could pass for an original homesteader on the frozen prairie. Gosh, it's enough to make a gal break into poetry ...

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The pupil cannot hear the teacher;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The slush-dimmed creek is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of learning is snowed out;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are hoping that July 4 will be a school holiday.

I suppose I owe Mr. Yeats an apology. "The Second Coming" is actually one of my favorite poems and if you'd like to read the real thing to cleanse your mind of the preceding doggerel, you'll find it here, along with commentary that sadly neglects Yeats' obvious snow-day theme.

Snowflake cat from I Can Has Cheezburger?