To all my friends in the Northeast who hoped we were gonna skate through this winter without any real substantial snow…you’re delusional…this is New England.
Personally, I’m so giddy I can barely contain myself because the forecast calls for 8-14″ overnight, and my snow shoes are propped up next to the front door and ready to go.
Now I’m acutely aware that not everyone feels the same way I do. I know there are two distinctly different camps when it comes to snow storms—the haters and the lovers. Obviously, I’m a lover. And even though I know that snow can be a major inconvenience in terms of shoveling and child care and commuting if you work, they’re also magical and peaceful and stunningly beautiful.
That’s because snow days are a hard stop in a world of constant motion. That’s why I’m always so ecstatic when storms are forecast. And if I can work even the smallest amount of voodoo magic to ensure that we have one, I will. Every. Single. Time.
Which brings me to why I’m writing about this…
About a decade ago, I was given the unique and rare power to influence the size and strength and magnitude of snow storms. I know, it sounds absurd (maybe because it is), but I’ve actually got a flawless track record up to now. Way better than anything Punxsutawney Phil can do. (He’s a hack.)
Let me explain…
This power, for lack of a better word, to influence major weather events was actually passed down to me. And I believe part of the reason why I inherited it is because I’m a true believer—a true lover of winter and snow days and all that they imply.
The truth is, I genuinely love everything about snow days. I love the extended-forecast anticipation of them. I love the waiting for notification of them. I love waking up the morning after a storm, pulling back the shade, and seeing that everything is buried under a foot of fresh powder. I love the pajama factor. I love the roaring fire and the hot cocoa and the lumberjack breakfast that a day off affords me the time to make. And yes, I even love the digging out part. Just ask Dave… he’s used our snow blower maybe twice in the last twelve years because he can’t pry me off of it when have a storm. (I like clean, symmetrical lines, what can I say?)
See, many years ago, when I first started working for the school system as a kindergarten aide, one of our kids shared a secret with me. Crazy as it seems, it was the secret for making snow days happen.
Now this was no ordinary kid and for sure was no ordinary secret. On the outside, he looked like your typical six-year-old boy. He walked into class every morning with catastrophic bed head, forgot to zip up his fly at least four times a week, would occasionally write his “Ds” backwards, and almost always put his snow boots on the wrong feet. But there was something about him. A quality. A quiet wisdom, I guess you could call it. Because he always had an uncanny, almost Nostradamus-like way of predicting when we would have a snow day. The kid nailed it every time.
Now of course, me being me, I eventually had to ask him where he was getting his information. I mean, he was so accurate that it was almost spooky. He was like an insider trader of storm predictions.
At first, he was reluctant to tell me how he did it so he’d shrug me off. And that made me realize that I needed to earn his trust before he’d open up and share. Because clearly he had some kind of power or sight that was bigger than both of us. A power I desperately wanted too.
So, for the first half of that winter, that’s exactly what I did. It was kind of like he was my Mr. Miyagi and I was his Daniel san. We’d sit together in our snow pants, criss-cross-applesauce, on the school playground, just catching snowflakes together on our tongues. (He never missed, by the way.) I swore the kid was the next Dalai Lama.
And it was only when I finally confided in him my true love of The Snow Day, that he knew my heart was pure and I was worthy of The Power. I told him how, when I was his age, I would wake up at 4:30 in the morning after a storm, sneak into the kitchen, and quietly turn on our transistor radio to listen to the endless list of school cancellations. Over and over.
I told him how I begged my neighbors to let me shovel them out because I just loved carving out clean, open routes in the snow for people to move around. I told him how I loved that a snow day is a beautiful forced stop when all there is to do is cozy up and just be.
I told him about the Blizzard of ’78 and how it was possibly the greatest week of my life because we got more snow than anyone had ever seen at one time. And we were buried and stranded for five whole days. I told him it was better than Disneyland.
I shared how it felt like we were all back on the Frontier when times were simple and pure. Because no one went to work or to school and there were no cars on the roads. Everyone just smiled and shoveled. Smiled and shoveled.
I think it was that Blizzard of ’78 story that finally made him trust me. I think he saw it in my eyes that I was a child of snow. Because it was right after I told him, that he shared The Secret.
He had me bend down next to him, right there under the jungle gym, and he whispered it in my ear. It’s the Legend of the Spoons, Mrs. Sugarman. To which I of course cocked my head and said, The legend of the what?! And he just said, The power is in the spoons. And his little voice was so authentic and virtuous that I just had to stay open minded.
He went on to tell me that if you put an ordinary spoon in your freezer the night before a big snow storm, school will always be cancelled. But, he said, you had to believe. Believing was the key. Because if you didn’t believe, then it just wouldn’t work.
Anyway, it was his absolute faith in The Legend of The Spoons that moved me to try it myself that same winter. See, I really do believe in the power of rituals. And when you combine them with the power of belief, you’ve pretty much bought yourself a fool-proof way of influencing a situation.
And wouldn’t you know, it worked the first time out of the gate. The very next time a big storm was forecast, I went through the motions. I mean, at first, I kept my powers from Dave and the girls. I needed to be sure it was legit, for credibility’s sake.
I hid the spoon behind the ice maker in the freezer and played dumb when one of the girls found it and said, What idiot left a spoon in the freezer?! It was only after school was cancelled the very next morning that I knew I was onto something. At which point I of course went screaming into their bedrooms waving the icy spoon over my head, confessing to the whole thing. They bought in 100 percent, my sweet children of the snow. And The Legend of the Spoons has been a tradition in our house every winter since.
Remember back a handful of years ago when we had those freak blizzards every Wednesday for an entire month? Yup, that was us. Sorry. We got a little carried away.
Now I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking I’m batsh*t crazy. And maybe so. But just ask the hundreds of people I’ve shared The Legend with over the years if they believe and they’ll tell you it’s the gospel. Because they did what I told them to do, and it worked.
So if you’re a true believer and you want to be part of the magic, then you know what to do tonight. There’s strength in numbers, remember.
And please, feel free to share The Legend with the rest of the world. Because this, my friends, is how legends are born.
Lisa Sugarman lives just north of Boston, Massachusetts. Read and discuss all her columns at lisasugarman.com. Or, find them on LittleThings.com, BeingaMom.life, and GrownandFlown.com. She is also the author of LIFE: It Is What It Is and Untying Parent Anxiety: 18 Myths That Have You in Knots—And How to Get Free available on Amazon.com and at select bookstores.
