by Gary Sacco

Created on: December 18, 2009   Last Updated: December 19, 2009

We have this amazing habit of loosely throwing out terms and not knowing exactly what they mean.   An example that stands out this time of year is the word “blizzard.”  I try not to be smug in life.  Being characterized by a trait that portrays me as a “know it all” is not so desirable.  Yet, living in the Northeast, very close to Lake Ontario’s southern shore, my entire life should certainly qualify me as a snow savant.  That statement is actually wrong.  I just committed what I initially began complaining about.  A savant, after all, is a learned scholar.  My knowledge of harsh winters wasn’t gained by enrolling in some course and reading half a dozen books at a local college.  It was a learned experience gained by enduring over 40 wintry seasons and learning as I went along.  Again, blizzards are very specific.  There are actually a couple of meteorological numeric qualifiers.  Winds must reach 35 miles an hour and the temperature should sink to 20 degrees and lower. 

The two guys I was rapping with at a Dewey Beach bar, during a week’s getaway this past August, probably didn’t know.  One, whose name may have been Bobby, told incredibly entertaining stories.  Soon enough, they both launched into a tale about the foot and a half of snow that Delmarva received a few years ago.  Bobby apparently owned a plow, maybe the only plow in the area, and sold it a few months prior to this storm.  “Dumb move,” I thought to myself.  Plows aren’t known for being high maintenance tools.  If he had the patience to store it away for just a fraction longer, Bobby’s plow would have paid for itself many times over!  No, I don’t think patience was the key here, he didn’t have faith in the eventuality that he’d actually use it one day.  Bobby should have been thinking like those mystics who predict when the world will end.  I’m not referring to the Heaven’s Gaters either.  Those crazy saps were duped into poisoning themselves in order to board a giant alien craft that would jet them to eternity.  My World- enders are far more resilient.  When doomsday comes and goes, these folks don’t grow desperate or apoplectic.  They merely pick another date!  That brand of bone headed faith would have served Bobby well.  Oh, yes, back to the

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