Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow...

It’s supposed to snow tonight. Big snow for Nashville, meaning a few inches might accumulate. I like snow. A lot. But only when I’m at home. The last time Nashville got a significant amount of snow was January of 2003. I had only lived here a few months, and having moved from Texas, was not at all accustomed to driving in the snow. Aaron and I were living downtown and only had one car, so I dropped him off on my way to work and picked him up on the way home. It started in the morning, about an hour after I arrived at work. By 10am, it was more snow than I’d seen in my entire life. I, not knowing what to do, waited too long to leave. The snow was starting to stick. I asked a coworker if it would be better to take the highway or the side roads home, and he said the side roads. He was wrong. I’ll be the first to admit that I’m not a fabulous driver. I’m fine in the everyday activities, but throw in bad weather and I’m out. I’ve had a couple of wrecks due to slick roads and spinning out, and I lose my confidence quickly when the conditions get bad. I hadn’t gotten very far when I started to skid. I found myself half in the lane, half on the shoulder, facing sideways, stuck. The wheels weren’t turning. (On the car or in my head.) I had no idea what to do. A few minutes later, a car parked next to me and a middle-aged man got out. He walked to my window and tried to give me instructions to get my car unstuck. I was grateful for the help, but still a little freaked, and nothing was working. Finally he said, “I promise not to steal your car. Would you like me to get in and get you straightened out?” I told him he was welcome to steal my car, that I had no idea what I was doing and anything would be better than the current situation. He got in, I stood in the snow, and he got my car back on the road. He then told me he was headed to a church up the road to pick up his kids, and if I wanted he would follow me there and I could come inside and use the phone. Excellent. A BILLION HOURS LATER, we made it the mile and a half up the road to the church. I went inside, where I could finally use a landline to call Aaron’s office and tell him what was going on. Basically that I had driven two miles in two hours and I was staying put at that church and I don’t care how you get here just get here because I am not getting behind the wheel and on the road again unless the temperature miraculously goes up 30 degrees and this entire mess melts away. Which, you know, probably isn’t happening. So Aaron tells a guy that if he will let him come and get me first, he’ll drive him home in his car. (This guy was apparently a big weenie like me.) They get in the truck, spin around a bit, fill the bed of the truck with snow, and FIVE HOURS LATER, arrive at the church. It’s a three-mile drive. And then we inch our way home. All in all, it took me nine hours to get home from work that day. What had begun as a pretty snow day with the promise of an afternoon hanging out at home turned into a long, frazzled nightmare of skids and spins. Not fun. Thankfully, this snow is scheduled to arrive on a Friday night, when I’ll be safe and warm at home with my dog and my hot chocolate and my Real Simple and the opening cermonies. And that is the best thing for everyone.