sno'-sto-werm: noun. any and all manner of frozen precipitation which may fall from the sky. Not limited to size of snowflake, or sleet pellet. Not limited to the number of said flakes or sleet pellets. If it is visual to the naked eye, no matter how small, no matter how few, it constitutes a snowstorm.
1. The emptying of milk and bread shelves in every grocery store, Wal-Mart and convenience store within 100 miles of predicted snowstorm.
2. The closing of schools and businesses within the same 100 mile perimeter.
3. The snarling of traffic that makes 5:00 rush hour on I-85 in Atlanta on any given day look like a ride on the Audobon.
4. The constant interruption of television programs by the local weather station to give the latest stats on "Storm Watch 2010", "Blizzard Watch 1993", "Winter Storm Tracker 1999" etc. Each storm gets it's own byline for days.
So, my northern friends... you silly yankees... please refrain from making fun of us as we hurry out to buy our milk and bread today. Okay? We can't help it. It's part of our DNA. Part of our Southern Charm, if you will.
So, back to the light-blinding thing. The bright light of the sun has given way to the grey pre-storm clouds, and it's starting to look a little dreary outside. And it's prettt-tty darn cold outside. Cold enough that you don't want to be sticking your tongue to any flagpole today, no matter how many double-dog dares you get!!
Oh yeah, the light-blinding thing. Before the sun gave way to the grey pre-storm clouds, it was shining in between the slats of the blinds in my room. From the corner of my eye, a blinding light appeared, and as I checked out from whence it came, I was reminded that I still have post-Christmas chores yet undone. My friend Craig, with whom I have reconnected on Facebook, is a pastor and author of a great blog called "The Pastor's Pages". One of his after-Christmas posts addressed the issue of undecorating after Christmas... and how it is the habit of some to have all their decorations neatly put away before bedtime on 12-25, and how some folks take a more leisurely approach to the process. I'm taking great liberty with my paraphrasing here, but he spoke of how anxious some were/are to approach the manger before, and then it seems some are anxious to hurry away from manger once the celebration is over, and put it all behind us for another year. (Read his awesome post here) I my own personal self tend to take the more leisurely approach in my undecorating chores. So leisurely, in fact, that one year I was the only one in the neightborhood with a Valentine's garland on my front porch. Hey. Red bows, red lights? Sounds like a Valentine's garland to me! I usually try to undress the tree and put away the trappings of the season by New Year's Day. But usually I'm not very successful, and it is more likely to be mid-January before everything is back to its normal state of chaos. Fortunately, it doesn't stress me. I love my skinny little Christmas tree, and it bothers me not one bit that it still sits beside my desk today, completely adorned with all the beautiful ornaments that bring me such lovely memories.
So what was the mysterious flash of light that blinded me? Not only is my lovely tree still standing proudly, but the small tree that I got for the children sits in my office as well, on the other side of the room. And because children love bling and things that sparkle, I had put some tinsel garland on the tree. Tinsel garland that is very reflective of sunlight. It was the sun peeping through the slats in my blinds, reflecting off the tinsel garland bling that was shooting beams of magnified light into my line of vision.
Just a gentle reminder, I suppose, that the time has come to put away the lovely items that I used to decorate my home in celebration of the season. Yes, I know it is time. And perhaps this weekend I shall undress the trees, and pack away the few things I set out this year, and get back to normal. Perhaps. Or I suppose I could just wear my sunglasses.