I survived the white-out of January 7

This is how we spent the last winter "storm" that was forecast for my area a couple of weeks ago. Owen is seen here ready to get his massive tonsils removed.

Local meteorologists had been watching that storm make its way here for several days. Tim said it was a lot like when he was growing up here and someone would say, "It's snowing in Memphis," which meant for sure it would snow here.

I had so much warning that I was able to go to Kroger TWICE, for good measure, just in case we were snowed in with two hungry 13-year-olds and a recovering tonsillectomy patient.

The storm was supposed to hit during Owen's procedure, in fact. We did watch it start coming down from the surgery center window. Keeping tabs on the weather kept us busy in the waiting room. I kept waiting, though, for the flakes to get bigger and for the parking lot to turn white.

It never happened.

The great Snowstorm of January 7 was a no-show. All we could claim was a "dusting."

So today I see predictions of a winter storm warning at the end of this week. My preliminary check of weather dot com tells me Thursday will see a high of 44 with a "wintry mix." I don't plan to run to Kroger just yet. Unless it gets MUCH worse in Memphis.

I think this time I'll risk it.

Why I hate the Cumberland Plateau

In today’s episode, we will analyze a growing geographic prejudice against the area known as “The Plateau.”
There is, in fact, a group called Haters of the Cumberland Plateau that largely consists of me and my three sons, though the 5-year-old is only an honorary member with no voting privileges.
We started the club because the Cumberland Plateau gets all our snow, and it’s just not fair. I can’t watch TV news while the twins are conscious because if they see one tiny snowflake on the five-day forecast, they think it’s time to get the “sleds” out.
Not real sleds, of course. We have those plastic disks that slide across the snow because we don’t get enough snow to really go sledding. It’s a shame, too, because Middle Tennessee has all these sweet hills.
Technology hasn’t helped us love The Plateau, either, since folks who live there are having too much fun sending digital photos of what should have been our snow to the Nashville TV weathercasters like some kind of high-tech ransom notes.
Then we end up with cold rain while The Plateau gets big, fluffy drifts, and I have to deal with questions like these before breakfast: Where is The Plateau? Why did they get all the snow? Can we move there? Why do we have to be so close to the equator? Can you check my math homework?
To paraphrase 1980 U.S. Olympic hockey coach Herb Brooks’s comments about the Soviets, I am sick and tired of hearing about how much snow they’re gonna get on the Plateau. Their time is done. It’s our time!
The goal of the Plateau Haters is simple: It’s for the children. Our kids need a really decent snow, significant enough that their dad has no choice but to stay home from work. Bless their hearts; they’re so optimistic when the flurries start flying. At daybreak, they’re planning snowmen and snow angels and snowball fights and snow forts, even though the grass still peeks out because we only got “a dusting.”
Once when we got about a half-inch, Henry found a one-square-foot patch of ice in a dip on the driveway. The boys looked so pitifully happy taking turns, sliding around. “Look, Mom, we’re skating!”
I should be careful what I wish for, since I end up spending the rest of the day counting gloves and forging through the wet, muddy clothes cast off during those fleeting, snow-dusted hours. I can’t imagine the laundry that would be spawned by a foot of snow.
Maybe we only got a dusting last time, but it was ours. Do you believe in miracles? Yes!