A Snow Day

Waiting for the power to be restored this Wednesday March 15, 2023, I thought back to those days at 361 Spring Street West Bridgewater, MA. specifically, the days when the snow was well over a foot and a half deep, and the nor’easter lasted longer than 24 hours. My brother, Chris, and I would impatiently look out of the windows, watching the snow rising up slowly like those first few feet into the water at Brant Rock on a wicked hot summer afternoon. At first your toes, then ankles, and mid shin and lots of shivering, at least for me. I could never take the cold water, still can’t, but Mama and Chris and even Papa could eventually take the polar bear plunge. The only plunging for me, were my 8- or 9-year-old testicles which fled upward to the safety of my stomach, and huddled together for warmth, while my brain screamed maniacally at me to abandoned the foot and a half of water I was standing in, RAPIDEMENT. I got tons of blanket time, and tried to make a slight sea breeze be enough to cool me off, as my various body parts began returning to their straight and occasionally upright positions.

Back to the snowstorm and to listening to Mama passing out instructions in case we lost power, and by telling us, prophesizing what happened next. With the electricity off, we could now hear the storm which did, at times, sound like howling, and as I recall the visual, a perfect match as snow blew up and against things like fence posts and tree bases and houses like toes and ankles and shins. Climbing up and on the northside of telephone poles and streetlights and weighing down tree limbs not used to the extra heavy force, the snow would cause them to creak and cry their own kind of pain as if to say enough or get off me, RAPIDEMENT. Sometimes a big branch would have had enough and come down with a thunderous thump, followed by deafening silence until a new band of wind and snow would renew battering what it could.

When Chris and I grew antsy Mum always had some answer to our fidgeting, whether it be hot cocoa or playing with blankets on furniture, building fortresses of pillows and couch cushions, using sheets for tents and such. We would use what was available, and Mama would go back to writing a letter or letters, sometimes, like this day, by candlelight, to one of her many friends. She enjoyed it if we were relatively quiet, having fun and not bleeding. All Mama needed was a kettle of hot water on the gas stove, a jar of Maxwell House instant coffee, Chesterfield Kings cigarettes, matches and an ashtray. On sunny warmer days, we would be treated to Mama and her basic necessities playing her ukelele, singing songs that made us laugh and sometimes, as we grew older, ballads and songs that we could sing along with as well.

Then, eventually, by next morning, while we kept waiting for the power to return, the storm would slow down, and even before Jim Cantore and Stephanie Abrams were born, we could observe the storm pulling away. It was time to play, and Chris and I would dress up, as best we could, usually two pairs of socks, the second pair pulled up around our pantlegs, to keep the snow out. A tee shirt, a shirt, a sweatshirt left just enough room for our only winter coats and a scarf, usually one of Mama’s, and two more pair of socks as back up to knitted mittens (“What lost your mittens, you naughty kittens, and you shall have no pie”) which in wet snow were immediately of no value. Socks were pretty good for using a snow shovel, as they easily slid down the handle when releasing the snow off to the side.

After the initial frolicking and throwing and abusing of the new snow every way we could, we had certain goals, set by Mama of course. Her primary goal for us was to have the driveway wide and empty of snow before Papa would get home around 5 PM. Secondarily, the mailbox across the street, and fire hydrant in the front of our house must become clearly accessible. When these jobs were done to Mama’s satisfaction, we could then try to go help some of our neighbors. We were eager for this as the going rate was a dollar a piece for each yard, sometimes more. Directly across the street were the Bergman’s, Arthur was a Brockton fireman, and his wife worked as a bookkeeper, and she would stop us from shoveling, long enough, to give us hot cocoa and a tasty pastry. Next, we’d hit the Gillespie’s, a double wide driveway, Mr. “G”, was a piano teacher. If time permitted, we’d end the shoveling detail with the Nelson’s, our next-door neighbor. Mrs. Nelson was my first-grade teacher at The Sunset Avenue School and on the other side of our house was my second-grade teacher, Mrs. Boynton, same school, but her son did their snow removal. Excited, Chris and I would take our hard-earned pay and bring it home to show Mama. Five or six dollars could buy riches for us and we, immediately, made plans to walk to Poole’s Market to spend everything we made as fast as we could.

One storm, after regearing with fresh socks for gloves, we trekked to Poole’s only to find it closed and without power, so Chris and I decided to walk to the Hockomock Farms Grocery store just a few inches past one mile from home. It’s a long walk through the kind of snow our parents said they had to walk through when they were young. No sidewalks in those days, and each step required an exaggerated goosestep, but with a brother by your side, we reminded each other of the treasures awaiting us at the much bigger store. Money was tight in those days, so we bought 2 packs of cigarettes (with a note) for Mama, a loaf of bread, some milk and of all things a can of crabmeat, a delicacy Mama loved, this left us plenty of money for us and candy, penny candy, and a new Superman Comic book. We arrived home, tired and worn out, but satisfied for Mama’s thanks for thinking of her with the crabmeat and a Mr. Good Bar as well as a Charleston Chew. Mama had the oven door open our kitchen was the warmest place in the house and we gathered around it, chowing down on our crabmeat sandwiches and sweetness reserved for wicked tired brothers.

Clear, in my memory, as soon as Papa got home and said hello, the lights and power came back on, making our early settler frontier like day we had had, seem more like a regular day to him.

The power has come back on here in Thomaston, ME at 12:15 PM, out for a mere hour and 21 minutes. I got up a couple of times to use the bathroom, grab a sandwich, wish it were a crabmeat, and extract from my memory, a day, like this one, many years ago and try to make it interesting enough to send out to the world. just sayin’ you are loved.