Bombogenesis
A Snow Day, Reframed
Yesterday it snowed.
The local news coverage was a farce. Two meteorologists who were clearly flirting with each other, whether theatrically or in earnest, bantered about how they had been “working all week” on this storm. As if they created it and set it on its merry jet stream way to form a bombogenesis, or bomb cyclone snowstorm, which I think is a term they made up to freak us out into tuning in so Executive Honda can sell us southern New Englanders more cars.
Homebound, I did stuff I had been putting off, or hadn’t had a chance to do. I polished two pairs of silver candlesticks, and Sam and I hung a piece of art. We tied at Wordle, both of us three tries: Impressive! Charlie looked slightly confused, off his walking routine, but also happy to watch the snow from the window. Look, Charlie, I say, a bomb cyclone, though to be honest it just looked like the same snow that I have watched fall every fucking winter in Connecticut over the course of my entire life.
Since deadlines at this particular moment have lost their Velcro, I took the opportunity to put together our holiday cards. Happy Groundhog’s Day!
Dare I admit I liked being stuck inside? For one day and one day only, Universe, I did. I was not restless but a contented possible sitting duck whose feathered butt felt oh-so comfy. Flashlight, check. Candles, check. My phone was fully charged, and I had a good book to read. Governor Ned Lamont advised citizens to stay off the road, and I took that advice one step further by staying inside and then even one step further by staying inside in my yoga pants. I mean, it was a bombogenesis out there, and my ability to enjoy the experience required buying in.