Twelve inches of snow in Boston overnight. Eight states have declared states of emergency.
That means federal dollars come in. Federal troops come in. Our tax dollars are being used to shovel driveways while occupants remain indoors or go to the grocery store and fight for food items.
When I was a kid, this was called a snowstorm. It’ll only last a day. The only reason it is dominating the news cycle is that it hit that sweet spot, the east coast, where people deem themselves more important than anyone who lives anywhere else in the country.
You’ve heard me say it before when I lived in the Rockies. “Snow in the Rockies, this killer storm is headed to Chicago and New York City where it is expected to impact travelers for three minutes, here’s Gilbert Hooks in the middle of the blizzard with color commentary.” No-one gave a darn about what happened to us in the Rockies! They only cared about Chicago and New York.
I’m guessing that Boston has snow plows. If not, those towns in the Rockies do have them, and even lend them via plane, to cities who do not bother to plan ahead for bad weather.
This is not a state of emergency, people. It’s just a 12 hour snowstorm. My parents battled the Blizzard of ’77 in Buffalo, NY. Yes, the family suffered from cabin fever, but that’s just because they were cooped up together for a week. Luckily I was elsewhere.
Next thing you know, if someone who thinks he/she is important and gets a hangnail or stubs a toe, it will require federal funds and troops to fix the situation. As a kid, I took off my shoes at home in April to get ready for summer, and left them off until school started up again. I scrambled up and down cliffs, rocks, and caught crayfish down in the creek and snakes on the path.
I must say that the best winter day of the year was when, in mountains of the white stuff, the school district called a snow day and we could play outside all day, sledding et al. But they never declared a state of emergency, got taxpayer money and troops. Our driveway was unpaved and 1/4 mile long and we payed to have it plowed. That’s how things were done back in the day. Dee
Cooking with Dee 