Snow Days

Snow always reminds me of winters growing up in New England. Being glued to the radio waiting to find out if school had been cancelled, hoping for a day of sledding and Mom's homemade hot chocolate. Building snow forts and ice skating on the pond down the road. Every now and then, a magical night when it just kept snowing and snowing, before cars made tracks on our dead-end street, before the plows woke up. Mom and Dad would pull my brother and me on our sleds for a walk down the road, followed by our black Labrador and occasionally even our cat. Snowy nights like this always felt a little like Christmas Eve, somehow special, little elves working their magic while you sleep and then you wake up to morning wonderland.

John introduced me to cross country skiing when we first met and I've been hooked ever since, although sadly there haven't been many consistently snowy winters in Columbus lately. Just this week we were supposed to get a storm that turned out to be a bunch of rain. It's been a pretty mild winter, and I'm so grateful for the snow we did get this month. John and I explored the canal path in Hebron which I'd seen from route 70 and always wondered about— it goes through a covered bridge!— and hit our close-to-home favorite trail at Glacier Ridge Metro Park.

Tracks on the trail

The Glacier Ridge woods

Covered foot bridge in Hebron

Snow day for Pippin

Totally on my bucket list though?— riding Pippin in the snow. It gave me a glimpse of what winter life might be like when we move to Vermont in a few years, and I loved it.

(Photos of me & Pip courtesy of Maddy Hayes)

Standby Vacations

Every now and then John has what’s called a long overnight. He’ll fly the last flight to some city, spend the entire next day there, and then fly out again super early the next morning. I try to go with him when I can— it’s an airline employee perk that I love because these trips feel like little weekend getaways we probably wouldn’t otherwise schedule, to places we might not otherwise plan to visit. 2021 brought us to Hartford (three times!), Jacksonville, Savannah, Greenville South Carolina, and Panama City.

Greenville, South Carolina

I love that we have favorite restaurants in cities that aren’t home. The biggest slice of cake you could imagine at the Boll Weevil in Augusta. Oooo the spaghetti carbonara at Bruno’s in Little Rock!— and zabagliones made and hand-delivered by Bruno himself when we told him John tries to get Little Rock flights just so we can go to his restaurant. Last year we discovered Sorella in Hartford, Connecticut, where I had what I think might be my favorite chocolate dessert ever: their semi-freddo. I haven’t had one anywhere else that’s as good!

Hiking at the UNF nature trails, Jacksonville

The day of a trip, I fill up cat food bowls, sequester the bird, pack light, and head to the airport where I’ll catch up with John in Atlanta. People ask me how I get a seat and if I get to reserve one. The answer is no. You’re flying standby, so you only get a seat if there any empty ones, and these are assigned in order of company seniority, so employees who’ve been with Delta the longest get first dibs. There’s a back-end system to see how many seats are available on a flight and how many folks are waiting for them; this way you can decide which flight you have the best chance on, but there’s always the possibility you could wind up in a pickle.

Connecticut river path in December, Hartford

I’ve been pretty fortunate. Sometimes I’ve made it onto a flight only because a paid passenger didn’t show up; one time I got the very last seat but then was asked to give it up for a passenger who was running down the hallway; and there’s only been one time that I was actually stranded. John was piloting a 5:30 am flight and I didn’t get a seat. I stood at the plate glass window, waving at John as the Tug pushed his plane back from the gate, then spent ALL DAY trying to get any combination of flights back home with no luck whatsoever. At 10pm I finally treated myself to a nice hotel and a good dinner and made it home the next morning.

Panama City Beach, Florida

New places are always fun to explore, and places we’ve already been feel like coming “home” but still give us new things to do. John goes for a run, we find a spot for breakfast, pack a knapsack, and walk and walk and walk. At some point we figure out where we want to go for dinner. And although getting up insanely early the next morning is no fun, it is so worth it for all these little adventures we have.

Hugging a mushroom, Panama City.

My Covid Week

When I started writing this post it was snowing. I was waiting for this! I sat at my desk watching the flakes fall outside, the sky a solid grey. Birds were at the feeder on one side, squirrel tails hung down from the other. Wind was blowing what was left of crinkled leaves still clinging to tree branches. It finally felt like winter — yay!

On that same day, though, I came down with covid symptoms, and I’ve been home since. It knocked me out with a fever and nausea the first day and a smaller fever the next day, but after that it was just a stuffy head and aching eyeballs. John and I have been quarantining— I started and am just about to finish my very first knitting project that isn’t a scarf, and we’ve been binge-watching seasons of Blue Bloods.

When I was a kid, being the kind of sick that kept me home from school meant Mom putting a sheet, pillows, and my favorite afghan on the couch in the living room so I could watch tv all day. She’d bring tea and soup and saltines, and ginger ale in the tall blue plastic glass with a bendy straw. These were the days before cable and remote controls, and while most of my favorite shows — a collection of cartoons and reruns — were on the same network, Mom was kind enough to change the channel for me if I needed to switch things up. I was a lucky kid.

While it wasn’t necessarily fun being sick, there was something I always liked about it. You didn’t have to worry about homework or studying; your only assignment was to get better. As an adult I’m not sick that often, but when I am it kind of feels like a magic reset button. It’s time off that your body forces you to take, with all your to-do lists reduced to one essential: get well. What you choose to add back in after that is up to you. A fresh start!