Old-School Snow-Hope

               Once upon a time we knew what we knew.  We knew that our faces and fingers would freeze when we went outside, and we could look at the sky and look for clouds darkening the blue sky.  And we had hope.  For us little kids, a heart bursting with hope that those beautiful geometric flakes would soon flutter down to cover the ground for sledding.  And cancel school.

               I grew up in a time before cable television and personal computers.  We did not suffer from the lack of The Weather Channel or a plethora of weather websites or apps to check every two-and-a-half minutes.  I did, however, check the thermometer mounted outside the kitchen window often during a cold-snap.  I would keep an eye on the horizon for incoming clouds, hopefully dark and fat, promising glorious fluffy flakes.

               Even the old-school forecasters had their hands tied to a certain degree.  Satellite imagery didn’t exist and the multiple international computer models that currently monitor the weather patterns were, frankly, science fiction!  The weather-guys of my youth depended upon data from various weather stations, using numerical probability and observation to give us their best guesses.  The lack of certainty kept hope alive.

               To receive these not always accurate prognostications you had to read the morning newspaper, catch the nightly news or listen to radio broadcasts.  There were no up-to-the-minute weather apps on your mobile phone to inform you of the slightest variation in the forecast.  Compared to today’s technology, there wasn’t a whole lot of certainty to these forecasts.  Mostly, you kept a hopeful heart and daydreamed about the snow people to be built while sharpening the blades on your toboggan.

               This week of frigid temperatures and murmurings about snow has raised and dashed the hopes of myself and my daughters over and over again.  The long-term forecasts mention the possibility and we squeal with delight, only to have our joy dampened by the darned way-too accurate computer models that tell us that the chances have dwindled.  Each chance of cold clashing with clouds is grabbed from our hands before we can make a snowball.  Rather than joyfully anticipating the days off from school, we are long-faced with disappointment as the websites replace the snowflake graphics of the future with pictures of sloppy rain drops.

               The fact is we know too much.  Technology and science have taken away the thrilling suspense that comes with winter cold and the sweet possibility of snow play.  I think I need to stop reading the forecasts from the National Weather Service, checking all of the blogs and sites and go with some old-fashioned hope.  Tonight I will again don my PJs inside out, place a spoon under my pillow and dream of lofty white fluff.  That’s all I can do.