Let It Snow, Let It Snow, Let It Melt

I’ve been busy polishing Ms. Dee Ann Meets Murder to meet a January 12 writing contest deadline—a long shot to win, but hey, a girl can dream—and thus have neglected my blog.  But Ms. Dee Ann Meets Murder has been sent off to join the hundreds or thousands or millions of other entries, and I’m back.

It’s Day Five of a snowy landscape where I live here in eastern North Carolina. Day Five and the kids are still out of school.  Day Five and I can’t take my neighborhood walk.  Day Five of depending on my husband to take me the few places I go—the grocery store, Sunday lunch out with friends, mall walking.

In Ms. Dee Ann Meets Murder, set in northeastern North Carolina, there’s a scene with comments about snow days based on my experience with this weather phenomenon in eastern North Carolina.

Giant plastic candy canes hung from the lamp posts on Main Street the Saturday morning I’d arranged to meet Elizabeth for breakfast at Ernie’s Grill. It was early December, and once Thanksgiving Day passed, Narrow Creek embraced Christmas in all its commercial glory.  Mannequins dressed in black velvet pants and red sweaters crocheted with holly leaf patterns stood guard in the storefront windows of Three Sisters Dress Shop.  Bob’s Ace Hardware had an assortment of children’s sleds stacked right outside the front door.

“As if it snows more than once or twice a season at best around here,” said Elizabeth, eyeing the display.

“Kids want to be ready for even one minor snow,” I replied. “And Santa loves to deliver sleds.”

“Maybe we’ll have more than an inch this year,” she allowed. “I love a snow day myself.  School is dismissed at the first flake, and we don’t go back until it’s all melted.”  Elizabeth pushed open the old wooden door with the faded Pepsi logo stenciled on it. “Here we are.”

Yep, Elizabeth, in North Carolina, public school doesn’t crank up again until the roads are clear. But while the kiddies are home, as Dee Ann implies, they’re riding their sleds.  I leave you with pictures of my grandsons on the “ski slope” in front of my house.

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