Welcome. We’re expecting a storm today, in the Mid-Atlantic and Northeastern U.S., the sort of blanketing that for children growing up in colder climes has long brought anticipation of the most delicious sort: Will schools be closed? Will we spend a day inside in our pajamas? Surely there’ll be sledding, snowmen and snow angels. An unexpected departure from the norm, a disruption of the rhythms of the week.
Of course snow days weren’t all windswept delight for parents, for those who had to reckon with the icy streets and sidewalks, downed trees and stalled subways. And this year, the pandemic has rendered the frozen fantasia of snow days all but obsolete for kids, too. Now that we’re getting the hang of remote learning (or learning to suffer through it), many school districts will continue as usual. Provided there’s electricity, there will be algebra.
If you’re able to stay inside and watch through the window, at home and safe, an impending storm might be cause for excitement. In a year short on the usual sources of serendipity, a change of scenery is no small thing. I’m eagerly anticipating a walk outside, swaddled in a hat and scarf, looking forward to even this small modification to my routine. I’m thinking about those snow days of years past: the long zipper of the snowsuit; mittens clipped to cuffs; the plastic bags rubber-banded to our feet to keep them dry inside loose, uninsulated rubber boots.
I found this article about anticipation’s connection to well-being very helpful in understanding part of what’s tough about life on pandemic pause, why I found myself excited for
