Staying Put in Upton

Well, the weathermen forecast this storm, starting with a prediction for four inches and moving quickly into dire warnings of ten plus inches, with snowfall rates of up to three inches an hour. It all started at noon, and now, at eight post meridian, it continues - white and fluffy, pelting down onto the roads and yards and woods. Given the approach of Christmas, this snow is a welcome sight to some small part of each of us in New England, to whom Christmas is never the same unless it is white. And so, we may have our collective wish, although the Nor'easter forecast for Sunday may end up as rain. But if it ices or snows instead, it will be the end of numerous Christmas pageants and parties.

The cats stare anxiously out the windows, wondering if there will ever be a time when they can slip outside to take care of their most pressing business. But we humans, safely home via harrowing rides over slippery streets, sigh and snuggle a bit closer to the woodstove, glasses of wine in hand (or martinis - after all it IS Thursday night). Home never seems as cozy as when a storm rages outside.

And suddenly, in the darkness, there is a knock at the door. No, it is not a young, pregnant woman with her husband by her side looking for safe harbor, but rather, it is the UPS man, package in hand and head and shoulders covered in snow. He has parked his truck out on the street and trudged up all 400-plus feet of the too-treacherous-to-navigate driveway to deliver a couple of packages. I answer the door and exclaim "You poor thing, you!" And he responds "Yep, it's a bad night out there," and turns and wades back into the darkness. I think maybe I should call UPS tomorrow to tell them how dedicated some of their workers are. I guess I can forgive a smashed package or two...