Snow Day

When I was a child, there were no words sweeter than those uttered by the radio voice on WTAG or WNEB, informing the eager kiddies of Worcester that there was “No school. All schools. Worcester public and parochial.”

There had to be at least a foot of snow for this to happen - none of this candy-assed couple of inches shut down. And school was never called off in advance. I remember trudging up the hill from grammar school in complete white out, blizzard conditions when a storm began during the school day.

Even though almost everyone had a mother at home, there was no such thing as early release.  Nope, you waited until the bell rang at 3 p.m., and then you braved the elements. Hoping all the way home that the storm would last long enough so that we’d hear that “No school. All schools. Worcester public and parochial.”

(I also remember, in first grade, trudging up the hill, all by my lonesome, in complete white out, blizzard conditions because I’d forgotten to bring in my signed permission card for the polio shot. The shots weren’t being given that day, mind you. We were just supposed to have the form in. And Sister Marie Leo was not one for giving any of us a pass. So, she sent a bunch of us out in the storm, Little Evas on the ice floes. I’m not sure how many of us were sent home, but Kathy Shea and Kevin Mulcahy, as I recall, were among the unforgiven. I was the first kid back. The other mothers insisted that their kids warm up a bit. Kathy Shea’s mother even made her a cup of cocoa. I can’t remember if my mother offered. At the time, she would have had an infant and a three-year-old on her hands, so she might not have been in the offering mood. Plus I probably would have convinced myself that it was a mortal sin not to speed right back with the signed polio shot form. After all, this was the same Sister Marie Leo who’d told us it was a mortal sin to step toe on the “holy grass” that surrounded the church. What a life, where you could go to hell for touching a blad of “holy grass.”)

At least in grammar school, we could walk home – school was only about a half-mile away.

In high school, getting home during a bad storm could take hours. It required taking the special bus into downtown Worcester, then waiting to transfer to a regular city bus. (The 19 Cherry Valley, usually.  Or the 33 Brookfield.  I can’t remember the route numbers, but there was also an Apricot bus. And a Grand View that you could take – but that was only in dire circumstances, as it was a long schlep home from the Grand View stop.) Naturally, during a bad storm, buses took 4EVA.

There were many times when I stood huddling with my friends, shivering in our loden coats, waiting for the 19 Cherry Valley to appear. Not to mention that our feet would be soaked right through the soles of our Bass Weejun penny loafers. Boots? Who knew there was going to be a freaking blizzard when we’d left for school in the morning?

Fast forward a few years….

During the Blizzard of ‘78, everyone was snowed in. I was already living on Beacon Hill by then, and the city of Boston was totally shut down. It was something to see the National Guard called out for snow removal. And something else to see folks grabbing a dozen loaves of bread when the first post-blizzard deliveries were made to the stores.  Banks were closed for a couple of days, too, and this was the era before the ATM. (Remember having to plan your cash that carefully?)

Yesterday’s storm was supposed to be a big deal. And it was in other parts of the state.

But I think we only got about 8 – 10 inches.

In the old days, that was certainly not enough for “No school. All schools. Worcester public and parochial.” But Worcester schools were closed today, and they’re closed tomorrow. As are Boston’s. Of course, Worcester probably got at least twice as much snow as Boston did.

The night before this latest storm, I’d joined the panicked hordes at Whole Foods, where the bread shelves were stripped nearly clean by the time I arrived. Well provisioned, we were all set.

So I took a snow day yesterday, and didn’t budge out of the house. Unfortunately, there’s no such thing as “No work. All work.” A downside of the always on, live by the computer world we live in.

But it does appear that our condo association has found a shoveler who is not me. And our mailman, who didn’t have to deliver anything other than first class mail because of the weather conditions, brought me my New Yorker, anyway.

So I was able to enjoy my sandwich on the near last loaf of bread (When Pigs Fly Tuscan Wheat) from Whole Foods while flipping through the New Yorker.

Snow days are fun!

This morning, I will venture forth.