Sunday, March 11, 2018

#148 See Riverdance At Radio City



A year ago, beloved Steelers kicker Chris Boswell tried to pull this really wicked offside kick. He had done it before at Rice University and when executed properly, it is freakin' awesome. When executed poorly, however, it looks like Riverdance gone terribly wrong. I even posted that minutes after the kick. Turns out, many in the World of Interwebz also saw the connection, because within an hour, there was a mock Riverdance video of Boswell and the failed offside kick.

In fact....here it is.


That got me reminiscing to another time in my life. It was a time when Irish step dancing was taking the world by storm. That's right. I said Irish step dancing and world domination in the same sentence.  And yes, I chuckled a little writing that but it is completely true. Trust me. We were all taken off guard by the shamrock studded whirlwind created by the Lord of the Flies and his Irish Rockettes.

If you will, allow me to take you back to a time of puffy white blouses, straight jacket posture, pants stuffed with socks and Michael Flatley's hair. Allow me to take you back to 1996.

I can so much do this! Well not really.

I don't remember where I first saw the Riverdance phenomena. It may have been on QVC during their annual St. Patrick's Day all Irish 24 hour extravaganza. It may have been on Letterman. It may have been on Regis and Kathie Lee. I can't recall my first viewing experience but I do know the dancers were being showcased almost every day on different TV programs as well as in the news. I figured out who Michael Flatley was pretty fast because his bulging black pants, bad contouring job and Irish Flock of Seagulls hair do were splashed across every magazine known to man.

I had no idea who was doing his make up but I wanted to call them up and tell them all about blending brushes and how they were a wonderful and useful cosmetic tool. I swear the dude wore more blush than the entire cast of the 1980's TV Show Dynasty. He was a phenomenal dancer though and his stage presence was show stopping.

The female lead and his dancing partner, Jean Butler, bore a striking resemblance to Nicole Kidman. She was a tall, slender, red headed woman with a bashful smile and porcelain skin. She was a classic beauty and an amazing dancer in her own right.

Jean Butler and Michael Flatley
I enjoyed watching Michael and Jean dance but when the entire Riverdance dance troupe came on the stage, that was when the real magic happened. The dancers would do these five minute TV spots on different shows and blow my mind completely every single time.

Chills would crawl up my spine each time the entire troupe would start pounding their feet on the stage, reverberating this stellar, rhythmic sound of many, many feet tapping in perfect unison. I was totally awestruck by the way they tapped so fast and so hard without moving their entire body. It boggled my mind and left me wanting more.

It also began to make perfect sense to me why my mother signed me up take tap dancing lessons. Hello? Part of my ethnicity was Irish. Although in all seriousness, I had no idea Irish people even tap danced until the whole 1996 Riverdance craze. I always thought Irish people enjoyed Polka dancing because that's what my Irish grandmother loved. I thought the Polish people shared their dancing with the Irish. No matter, it was all coming full circle for me now. Little Irish girls took tap lessons. That's what they did.

I never had good posture. My mom would bitch about that.
Only I did not learn how to tap dance like the women in Riverdance. I was taught to move my entire body with the steps. Shuffle, shuffle, ball change, twist, and sway my arms to the beat. I guess I learned the American version of tap dancing.

I am American first and foremost. It makes sense. Watching these Riverdance TV spots made me begin to miss tap dancing. I still had my tap shoes up in the attic but there was no way I could possibly fit into them now, even though my feet were tiny.

And the reason I knew my feet wouldn't fit into them was because I may have went up in my attic and tried them on because I wanted to try Irish step dancing in my kitchen. It was an epic fail in the shoe department. A huge wave of disappointment washed over me. I had pondered buying a new pair of tap shoes but they were not cheap.

My Irish step dancing days were over before they ever began.

The whole tap shoe thing did not quell my obsession with Riverdance though. I was still completely hooked. I wanted to see the entire show. All these little TV spots and dance clips were just a tease to me. I started watching all the documentaries on TV about the making of Riverdance. Then, I started watching documentaries on Irish step dancing in general. Pretty soon I was fascinated with any TV show that had anything to do with Ireland. Riverdance had rekindled an interest in part of my ethnicity. And, to this day, the fire still burns.

 I will get to Ireland one day. I have to.

Anyway, they started selling Riverdance and Lord of The Dance Videos and DVDs on TV but they were way too much money. The kids were little yet and I only worked part time. I couldn't spend $99 on Michael Flatley videos. I began checking the newspaper for bus trips to see Riverdance but I had no such luck in my endeavors. They were no longer touring in the Tri State area. Sighs. I guess I would just have to carry on with my life but it was going to be hard.

Then, one weekend, a beautiful thing happened. PBS was doing one of their weekend fundraisers for donations. Usually PBS airs some pretty cool programming during their fundraising weekends. They pull out all the stops. And, as long as you can manage through the many pauses in programming where they plead to the audience to buy one of their donation packages, you can watch some shows and concerts you normally wouldn't be able to see without attending the actual event or spending mucho bucks on the DVDs.

In 1997, PBS decided to pull out the big guns. They aired the entire Riverdance show from the March 1997 Radio City Music Hall series. I kid you not, I watched it every single time they played it that weekend. I think it aired 6 or 7 times. I was hooked. I was an Irish step dancing junkie. The show was amazing. It was everything I imagined it could be and more. There was no more Michael Flatley though. He was no longer with the troupe. However, after watching Colin Dunne perform, I was like "Michael who?"

Colin was meant for that role. Michael may have originated the role, but Colin Dunne owned it. This man was one of the best dancers I had ever seen. And the show was not at all what I was expecting. It was so much more than Irish step dancing. The show started by telling the story of growing up in Ireland before the potato famine. As it progressed, it went into the struggle of the Irish people during the famine. So many of them had no choice but to leave their beloved Eire in hopes of finding a more sustainable life in America. The story ends with the Irish immigrants integrating into the melting pot of American culture while adding their own unique, distinguished style.

It's funny because my favorite part of the show will always be when all the dancers are on stage at once tapping up a storm but, there were two other parts of the show I adored that had more to do with other styles of tap than Irish tap. Maria Pages was in the show. She is a world renown Flamenco dancer. I had seen some Flamenco dancing on TV here and there over the years but never enough to garner a true feel for it. When I watched Maria's scenes and they way she danced the Flamenco, I was completely entranced.

Maria Pages
She was nothing short of exquisite. There was a rawness in the way she performed. Her Flamenco dances were so mesmerizing that you could actually feel the emotions she was purveying in every step. That right there is true talent.

I mean, we can sit and watch an amazing performance and enjoy it immensely. We can love it. We can feel pure joy witnessing it. But, it takes a special kind of talent to bring forth such raw emotion and heated passion in a performance that the audience can actually feel it within themselves. That is what Maria did for me.

My other favorite performance was Trading Taps. Trading Taps is where Irish Step dancing meets Jazz dancing in the streets of NYC.  It's one of the most fun and spirited dancing scenes I have ever seen. Tarik Winston and Toby Harris stole the show with their moves. They are up their with Colin Dunne as some of the most talented dancers I have ever had the pleasure of watching. You could see by their faces that all the guys were having a complete blast performing this scene.

So yes, I absolutely loved Riverdance. I was also working full time again waitressing so I decided that I would eventually purchase the DVD. It was so worth it.

Riverdance at Radio City Baby!!
Fast forward to September 1997. I always checked the newspaper for show listings and bus trips. I never went to anything but that gypsy soul of mine always liked to live vicariously. Maybe one day, I would be able to travel and experience life like I once did in high school.

And I wanted to share that part of me with my kids. I wanted to take them on adventures and trips. I wanted them to experience many, many new things. It was so important to me that I give that part of me to my children. Eventually I was able to do just that, but at this point in our lives, back in 1997, they were still too little.

Anyway, I was scanning the bus trips in the paper when I let out a loud scream in the middle of Friendly's where I was waitressing. A local bus company was running a trip to see Riverdance in Radio City on September 27th. Oh my god I was so there. I had to make this happen. I hadn't been to the city in 6 or 7 years. I was actually having strange dreams about NYC. ( I still do. They are a good strange though. Always a good strange.) I checked my bank account. I could swing this. I called the bus company and made arrangements.

My sister was coming with me! I could not sleep a wink the night before the trip. I was too anxious and excited. I would pay for it the next day unfortunately. The bus left Hazleton at 700 am. Showtime was at 1:00 pm in Radio City. I really wished I had been able to sleep on the bus but I was still too wired. We arrived in midtown NYC around 10:30 am.

There was a car show and festival taking place in Rockefellar Center. We figured we would kill some time checking out the cars and stands and Holy Shit!! Was that a Bugatti??? It was freakin stunning. My sister and I had to get a closer look. This was obviously a very expensive car show. As we strolled around the Piazza de Rockefeller, we saw Ferraris, Lamborghinis, Mercedes, Corvettes and a host of other luxury cars. The Bugatti took the cake though. I couldn't believe I actually saw one in person. To this day. I have never seen one again. I probably never will either.

I was so much there.  The cars were stunning!

We decided to grab something small to eat before the show. I started going on and on about the Fashion Cafe. We had to go there. You see, I grew up in the 80's. I was witness to the "Era of the Supermodel". I knew all of the models by name. Some of them I truly adored. Others I thought were spoiled, unappreciative divas. I was a loyal subscriber to Cosmopolitan, Allure, Marie Claire, and Glamour magazines. I sometimes bought Vogue and Elle but only if Claudia Schiffer was on the cover. She was my all time favorite supermodel.

Claudia, Elle MacPherson, Christy Turlington and Naomi Campbell were investors in the Fashion Cafe. The restaurant was located right in Rockefeller Plaza where we just happened to be. We would not have to wonder far from Radio City to grab a quick bite. My fellow show goers were not as thrilled to try the Fashion Cafe as I was but they were hungry so they reluctantly obliged me. In hindsight, I wish they would have put up more of a fight. Hotdogs in dirty water from the street vendors would have been a way better snack.

My girl crush for Claudia was for real!
Yes, I know the irony of it all. I thought the same thing when I first saw the models had opened the restaurant. Models are clothes hangers. They do not eat like the average American. What kind of food would they be serving? Cucumbers and water? Saltines and carrot sticks? I'm sure they had to have salads and healthier sandwiches on the menu right? Yes, models owning a restaurant was definitely ironic and I personally got to experience the irony of it all.

When we walked into the restaurant, the first thing I noticed was that Claudua Schiffer was not there. WTF?? Just kidding. I had hoped for a Claudia sighting but at 11:30 am on a Saturday, I knew the possibility was more than highly unlikely that she would be there.

What I did notice was the decor. Some of the walls looked like they were just slapped with paint. There were huge cracks in the walls that were not fixed, just painted over. There were some dresses and couture items on display but most of the decor was made up of crookedly hung little photos here and there of the models.

We were led to a little room down some steps. It was big enough to hold a small counter. Guess we were not fashionable enough to sit upstairs even though there was practically no one upstairs. Whatever. No one was in the downstairs room at all.

We decided to glance at the menu while we waited for our server. I almost died when I laid my eyes on the prices. They were outrageous.We decided to go the cheap route although it was by no means cheap. We got potato soup, a vegetable salad and a dessert to split. Our bill was still going to be around $30 for those three items.

Epic Fail

The salad wasn't bad. It was small but not bad. The potato soup.....yea, let's talk about the potato soup. What do you picture when you hear the words "potato soup"? I know what I picture when I hear the words "potato soup". I imagine a large soup crock filled with thick, creamy, buttery goodness loaded with chunks of potatoes. Obviously models picture something else completely because what our server brought us was a small bowl of broth with a little boiled potato in the middle of it.

I almost blurted out " What the f@ck is this?" but kept my composure. After I recovered from the initial shock of what was placed in front of me, I took a spoonful of broth. It tasted awful. You want to know how it tasted? Boil a potato then dump a cup of diluted vegetable stock over it. That is how it tasted. I paid $9 freakin dollars for this, this liquid singular potato nightmare. As for dessert, I can't even remember exactly what we ordered but I know I could have walked into the Acme and bought it in the cheap frozen pie section.

There was a famine for Christ's sake. Potatoes deserve better.
I can still recall what the cake at my third birthday party tasted like. For me to not remember this dessert, it had to be god awful. Another $8.00 well spent, not! It was absolutely no shocker whatsoever that the Cafe went out of business the following year. It sucked. Everything about it sucked.

I even said to my sister while we were in the restaurant that I could not see this restaurant lasting very long in NYC, the mecca of fabulous, unique and delicious food from just about every ethnicity known to man.

I mean, we were getting ready to watch a performance about how an entire country suffered from a major potato famine and this is how you treat a potato? Seriously? I felt bad for the little spud. It wasn't his fault. He didn't know. He deserved so much better than what he got. But enough of my Fashion Cafe rant. It was now time to head over to Radio City to see Riverdance live and in person. How exciting!!

It's show time bitches!

We had seats in the balcony. And while I was not close enough to see the sweat beading down the dancers' faces, the view was amazing. You could see the entire stage. I opened my program and three little papers spilled out from it. I picked them up and read them. I felt a deep sadness wash over me. I had known Jean Butler was no longer with the troupe but Colin Dunne and Maria Pages were not performing in the matinee. Their stand ins were. I guess they were resting up for the evening shows.

I was devastated for about five minutes. Once the curtain was raised and the performers were on the stage, I forgot all about my utter disappointment. The sound of the tap shoes live and in person provoked chills all over my body. I closed my eyes for a few moments to really take in the sound. Big mistake. Not really sleeping for over 24 hours hit me immediately. I became very drowsy. I fought it off with all of my strength.

When the Irish choir took the stage, I knew I was not going to win this battle. You see, trained Irish singers have very distinct, very melodic, almost angelic voices. Enya, Sinead, Dolores from the Cranberries, they all have lullaby voices. Yes, they can rock out, but they also have that traditional Irish voice. The choir sounded so crystal and ethereal and within two minutes I was out cold. I have no idea how long I was out but it had to be a good ten minutes. All I know is my neck snapped my head back up from my chest and looked around wildly, trying to figure out what the hell just happened.

My sister laughed at me. I was so internally pissed at myself though. I paid $65 to make one of my dreams come true and I was going to sleep through it? WTF was that all about? Wake the hell up and enjoy this show live and in person, I scolded myself. I did not nod off again completely but I did struggle through the entire first act. Once I was able to walk around at intermission I was good again. I was still very upset with myself though.

Bravo!!!!!!!!

The second half of the show left me even more impressed with Riverdance. The stand ins did a fantastic job. You would have never known they were substitutes. No, they were not Colin and Maria but they were amazing nonetheless. The Flamenco, Trading Taps, the Finale,  I got to watch all of it.  More importantly, I got to hear all of it. That was absolutely priceless. When the show ended, we all gave them a standing ovation.

In closing, as we made our way out of the world famous RCMH and into the crisp NYC air, I was grinning from ear to ear. It had been so long since I actually went out and made something happen for myself. I had just made one of my dreams come true. This was the first time it had been all about me and not someone else in 6 years. I had hoped to be able to do more of that in the years to come. Irish eyes were smiling upon me that day. They had awoken the dormant gypsy in my heart.


Chrissy



Monday, March 5, 2018

#470 Witness A Blizzard


Well, it's that time again. Fluffy, white flurries cascading downward from the smoke colored skies are a reality. These frozen, icy wafers will gently accumulate onto the landscape, creating a glistening blanket of pillow soft snow. Trees and bushes and rooftops, with their chimneys smoking misty contrails into the deep dark night, will be adorned with layers of powdery frost reminiscent of Thomas Kinkade paintings. It is the most stunning sight to see. It is the truest epitome of a glorious winter wonderland.

Yea....sure it is.
Is it Spring yet?

What she said! I second that!

Don't get me wrong, snow covered scenes are very beautiful. Seeing miles of trees blanketed in pure white, puffy snow is nothing short of breathtaking. I'll admit that. Noticing the unique shapes and sizes of individual snowflakes falling on your black winter coat can be rather fascinating. I'll admit that too. Bugs, especially the flying ones, going back to hell where they belong for several months each year is indeed something to celebrate and give thanks for. I will 100% admit that.

But the downsides to winter weather, especially as you get older, are very tough to love. If you are an adult whom has to go to a job or take your family to events, driving in bad weather is not only a nightmare, but it could be very terrifying as well. Not only are you worried about your own car sliding or going off the road, but you have to fret about ignorant drivers on the road. Drivers who do not know how to drive in the snow. Drivers who think they are invincible to the weather.

The winter wonderland at my former residence.


It's those drivers that cause the brunt of accidents in the winter. It can't happen to them, until it does. And often times they either seriously injure or kill other drivers due to their utter disrespect for the weather and driving conditions. Those drivers scare me yes, but they anger me even more. That is one of my biggest fears when driving in bad weather.

Another scary commuting concern in wintry weather is the unexpected snow squall. Have you ever been on a busy interstate when a snow squall occurs? That's the stuff that makes you find Jesus again. I've prayed in my car many times during bad weather. These squalls cause huge, dangerous pile ups every year. Whiteout conditions are no joke. It's like driving through the world's largest pillow fight but all the pillows busted open and the only thing you can see in front of you is millions upon millions of feathers. I don't know how else to describe it.

Interstate 81 near Harrisburg, Pennsylvania

Penn State Highacres, Hazleton, Pennsylvania

Of course snow is not the only catalyst for causing a pile up. Heavy fog and sudden, torrential downpours of rain also cause pile ups. All of them are horrible to drive through. I dislike them all. But, this blog is about winter and blizzards. Let's continue to bitch about them shall we?

Preach Madea!! 
Shoveling and snowblowing snow can be a huge pain in the ass after a significant snowfall. It's a good workout sure but it can also cause heart attacks. Again, it's no joke. And if ice mixes in with the snow, like it did a few times this year, well that is another monster completely.

Ice is as bad as it gets. It's extremely dangerous to drive on. 4 wheel drive does not make a difference on ice. It's extremely dangerous to walk on. Many injuries such as concussions and broken bones occur yearly due to ice storms. The streets become rutted with thick chunks of ice, damaging tires and alignments.

And if you do not have rock salt to sprinkle on the ground after an ice storm, your are pretty much shit out of luck. Good luck trying to find a bag of Quik Joe or rock salt after an ice storm. It becomes a mythical creature. Even kids do not like ice storms because it makes the snow impossible to play in. And some of us have brothers who like to make ice snowballs and throw them at you. That shit hurts.

The giant neighborhood willow tree that has been watching over me since I was a baby.
Enough about ice storms though. Let's get to the Queen Mother of all winter storms, the blizzard. I have been through a few of them in my lifetime. All of us lifelong Northerners have. When I was younger, I am sure I played in the aftermath of a few blizzards but I cannot recall them offhand and I don't feel like looking them up.

The first blizzard I can remember from memory was the Blizzard of 1993. That was almost 3 feet of frozen hell that ended on the Ides of March. Then there was the winter of 96. That was the worst winter I have ever witnessed. I do not recall if there was a blizzard in the mix but I do know in the period of about two to three weeks, we got rocked so hard with several Nor'easters that eventually there was too much snow everywhere and the entire state was shut down.

Not gonna lie, it was pretty fun having a few adult snow days. Everyone, with the exception of essential personnel, was off from work due to the state of emergency. Once it stopped snowing, the weather became beautiful and sunny. The sky was the truest of blues. The humongous snow mountains were still a pristine, shimmery white. They had yet to get that grungy grey coating from vehicle traffic and street slop.

People were milling about everywhere, eager to get out of the house, myself included. It was very cool to walk down the middle of what would normally be high traffic streets. Some smaller stores were open for business since the owners lived near by. Dragging my kids down the streets in orange and blue plastic sleighs was a real treat for them. They were in complete awe of the towering snow piles all around us. It truly felt like we were living in a village in the Alps rather than a city in Pennsylvania.

Everyone was walking down the street. 
Unfortunately we all had to go back to work after a few days. And that was when it became dangerous. The snow was piled so high on the street corners that you had to be so very careful when driving. You really could not tell if a car was coming down the road until you were practically halfway out into the intersection. I held my breath many times during those weeks.

Eventually the city started removing snow from the corners but it was a laborious project since there was so much snow everywhere. I have no idea where they even took the snow. And then there were the businesses and residential homes that sustained caved in roofs, downed trees and buried vehicles. It caused a financial nightmare for so many. Abandoned cars hiding under massive piles of snow were damaging plows and other heavy equipment. That did not help matters either.

We were dealt this weather in January and February of 1996 which meant it was not melting anytime soon. One of the good things about March snowstorms is that usually the temps raise enough to melt the snow rather quickly. In '96 were not so lucky. And when all of that snow finally did melt in the Spring, it cost another fortune in damages from flooding. I hope I never see another winter like that in Pennsylvania. I know New York, New England and a few other states get hit that hard every year but in PA, it is not as common to get hit that hard, so consecutively. We got no breather.


A freak winter storm hit my area on October 28th, 2008. The snow came down so fast and so heavy that it took down part of the huge pine tree in the yard of my former home. Thankfully no one was hurt. 

The view of the downed pine tree from my former home.

The view of the tree from my parents house, two houses away. Yes, it was a huge tree.

So let's talk about Stella. No, I am not talking about A Streetcar named Desire. See, The National Weather Service seems to get a lot of enjoyment from naming things so they decided a few years back that winter storms were just as deserving of having a name as hurricanes were. And so every winter a new list of names are released for all the possible winter storms that may occur.

In March of 2017 a winter storm system was developing in like 50 different places across the country, including both coastal oceans. This system was named Stella. Stella decided she was going to visit my neck of the woods on Monday, March 13th. It was to be an evening visit. This storm was going to be a work week nightmare for so many people. It had absolutely no consideration at all for the time of week it was going to hit us and I felt that was really rude.

Let's take a step back though.

I am going to stop being so negative about winter storms for a few moments and start killing Stella with some kindness. Let's face it. Being trapped in a house with a bunch of bread, eggs and milk can be very fun. Winter storm breakfast food is some of the best food to ever be consumed.

Yes!! Eat your damn milk samwich!
French toast, pancakes, scrambled eggs with cheese, bacon, sausages, hashbrowns, breakfast samwiches and a plethora of other breakfast goodies are the quintessential winter storm dining option. I can't explain it but there is something about winter storms that makes breakfast food taste even more fantastic than normal. There is a coziness to it I guess.

And speaking of cozy, being trapped in a toasty warm house wearing comfy pajamas and fuzzy socks isn't so horrible. Yes, occasionally some of us change back into regular clothes on and off throughout the day to go outside and try to keep up with the shoveling. I mean, I don't. I make my kids do that but some people do try to keep up with the snow. Usually between the 13th and 18th inch though, even the most dedicated shovelers say screw it, toss the shovel in a snow bank and give up.

I mean why shovel snow when you can curl up on the couch under a super soft blanket and do a blizzard binge watch of movies and TV shows. Who cares if the remote gets all sticky from maple syrup while crumbs of bacon dangle from your hair. They're a snack for later. It's a blizzard. Light some candles, microwave some hash browns and binge watch Stranger Things. You can even add a winter theme to your blizzard binge and watch a mini series like Stephen King's Storm of the Century. Andre Linoge would approve.

"Give me what I want and I will go away" It's a snow day people!

Once in awhile during the blizzard, throw a coat over your jammies, slap on some winter boots and go out on your porch or deck and check the progression of the snowfall. I personally love looking up at the streetlights at night to watch the snow fall in their illumination. It's very soothing to me. I also don't mind letting my hair become drenched with a bunch of humongous snowflakes. It makes me feel like Gandalf in Lord of the Rings. It's awesome. I mean, don't get me wrong, being pelted with snowflakes in 30 mph wind is not for everyone but we all have a little weirdo inside us.

One of my shovelers didn't find my supervising skills amusing. 
My other personal sidewalk shoveler. 
That's a severe case of dandruff.

I like leaving messages in the snow. My brother was not amused. 

He did this to my Blazer. Bitch!
My dad loved his message though. 


Making the most of the situation. 
The night of Stella, I did not sleep much. I knew I had work the next morning so I monitored the snowfall throughout the night in between cat naps on my couch and weather reports. I kept myself going with Kauai Hawaiian coffee with sweet Italian cream coffee creamer. At 4 am, I looked outside my window. The snow was deep but it looked like the street was plowed. It didn't seem too bad. I bundled myself up and made my way to the car to clean it off. I decided I was going to go to work early.

As I waded my way through the deep snow and onto the street, the snow was just as deep as it was on the sidewalk. I looked up at the streetlight. The reflection of the light on the snow made it appear that the street had been plowed when in fact, it had not been. I stood there, in the middle of the street, with the wind whipping snow all around me, my cheeks red, wet and frozen, internally debating what to do about work. I don't like calling off from work. It gives me major anxiety and sometimes leads to an actual panic attack.

As I turned to make my way back into the house, I fell into the snow. I am not the tallest person on the planet by any means so the snow totally consumed me, like quicksand. I flailed around a little, like a seal flopping around in water, but was able to get myself upright. I was coated in snow from head to toe. If any of my neighbors were looking out their window at that moment, they probably pissed themselves laughing at my plight. I wasn't offended though. I would have laughed as well.

I trudged through the snow and back into the house, leaving a trail of fluffy, white cold stuff on my carpet. I placed all my outerwear on the radiator to dry off. I put my pajamas back on and figured I would try again around 5 or 6 am. For the next hour I made myself sick with anxiety. I was anxious about calling off from work but the snow was not slowing down at all. I wasn't necessarily concerned about getting to work, it was coming home in super deep snow and then not having a parking space that was really jarring my anxiety,

Reports of accidents and vehicles getting stuck were already coming over the wires. The snow was falling super heavy by this time and was not supposed to cease until the evening. I stepped outside, onto my front porch. The snow and wind were wild. My contacts felt frozen to my eyes. After much debate, I confirmed that the anxiety of going to work and spending the day worried about getting home after work far out weighed the anxiety of calling off. With a heavy heart, I made the call. Chrissy was going to have a snow day. Might as well make the best of it.

I totally got kicked out of the big pimpin' club
when I took my snow day.
 
After making the call, the first thing I did was remove my contacts. They were bothering me. In the process, I scratched my cornea. Last time I did that, a trip to the ER and a follow up to the eye doctor was in order. I said the F bomb about 20 times, cursing myself. I felt my eye already starting to water up.

When you scratch your cornea, it feels like there is something in your eye. No amount of rubbing makes that feeling go away. In fact, it makes it worse. It doesn't necessarily hurt, but it can become sore. The previous time I did this, my eye swelled up so bad from it tearing every time I closed it that I looked like I got in the ring with Mike Tyson.

There was no way in hell I was making it to the ER in this shit, so instead I prayed that I did not scratch it too bad. I couldn't find my steroid eye drops anywhere in the house either. I put my glasses on and tried not to aggravate my eye too much. I was so pissed. I asked myself the same question I often find myself asking in times like these. " Why?"

I knew there was no answer to that. There never is. This is how my life goes and I've learned to cope with it as best as I could. I padded my way back to my couch, grabbed my oversized, plush Steelers blanket and laid down. I could feel the tears from my duct running down my cheek as the lid of my eye irritated the scratch. I was so tired from not sleeping much the night before. It wasn't long before I fell asleep to the sounds of The Weather Channel.

Around 9 am the wind must have knocked something over on my front porch, startling me out of my sleep. I jumped up off my couch, my left eye all crusty and glued shut from tearing in my sleep. I opened my front door quickly, worried that something major had been damaged. I stood with the door open, peering around my front porch like a deranged pirate. I was still half asleep, my eye was crusted closed, snow was blowing into my house and I had no idea what caused the noise. I was such the spectacle.
No. It's not. 
I noticed my wooden lighthouse had been knocked over. It wasn't anything major like the awning being ripped from the porch or a car in my front yard. I breathed a sigh of relief then plodded to the downstairs bathroom. I got my eye unstuck with a warm washcloth and popped some ibuprofen. I examined my eye in the mirror. I could see the white ulcer forming over the scratch. I was annoyed by the constant feeling of something being in my eye, but the ibuprofen would help with the swelling.

I put on my coat and went back onto the front porch. The snow had gotten even deeper and visibility was not good. This was't big, fluffy snow falling slowly from the sky. These were little frozen razor blades spewing from the sky horizontally with wind gusts around 40 mph. I walked back inside just in time to see my power flicker. I started praying that we would not lose power. I hate when that happens. I plugged my phone and iPad into their chargers just in case. Thankfully, with the exception of a few flickers here and there, I did not lose power that day.

I checked FB to see what was going on out in the world. I immediately felt bad for all the emergency personnel working. There were a lot of accidents as well as many cars getting stuck and stranded. The snow was becoming so deep, and was falling so fast, that it began to overwhelm drivers and road crews alike. They couldn't escape and they couldn't keep up. Interstates 81 and 80 were having some major issues. We were about 8 hours into the storm and still had at least another 6-8 hours to go.

I so much did survive! 
I was documenting the snowfall as much as I could with my camera. I snapped a few more pictures then headed to my kitchen. Like most Northerners, I had visited my local grocery store the day before. I wasn't going for the french toast trio of bread, eggs and milk however. My snowstorm essentials included coffee, ice tea, smokes and pizza. I already had eggs at home as well as a ton of pepperoni and some pancake mix I needed to use.

The stores were pretty much wiped out. The bread shelves only had a few loaves of the most expensive bread strewn about them. Milk and water bottles were scarce as well. Eggs were pretty much gone, even the cartons of egg beaters. (Gross). I will say, one of the benefits of waiting until the very last minute to go shopping before a blizzard is you don't have to wait in line very long.

Yes, you are guaranteed to not get almost everything you have on your grocery list but, you are not wasting away standing in long checkout lines full of anxious shoppers. Another added bonus, you can channel your creative side and come up with some very unique dishes from the few groceries still remaining on the shelves. It's amazing what you can do with an apple, a bottle of mustard, a package of Ramen noodles and a can of Spam. I don't know what it could possibly be, but I am sure some college kid out there knows. Good times.

My awesome blizzard breakfast. 
I had not planned on making my snowstorm breakfast meal until after work, but since I was having a snow day I figured why not make my blizzard breakfast in the morning. Seemed legit. I whipped up a scrumptious blizzard breakfast that included tater tots, scrambled eggs with cheese and pepperoni, pancakes with maple syrup and whipped cream, and sausage patties with cheese on pita bread since I had no bread. Hahahaha.

After I ate, I pretty much spent the remainder of the day on my couch binge watching Criminal Minds, surfing the web, taking naps and writing my Tour A Brewery Blog. It was so relaxing. Even my eye was was feeling better. Occasionally I would go outside and look at the progress of the snowfall while my daughter did some shoveling. I believe by the end of the storm my city had measured 28 inches or a little over two feet of snow.

The snow drifts from the wind and the city plows pushing the snow off the roads did create banks of snow as high as 4 feet. Thankfully, where I parked my car, it was shielded by a house and did not have that much snow on it. Cleaning it off would not be a major task the next morning. Before I went to bed, I grabbed my two orange traffic cones from the basement so I could illegally save my spot in the morning.

Stella Timeline

3/13/2017  8:00 PM 
3/14/2017 4:00 AM
3/14/2017 6:00 AM
3/14/2017 9:00 AM
3/14/2018 12:00 PM
3/14/2017 3:00 PM

The next day, I took a slow ride to work. The roads were not great. The street corners were stacked high with snow. Thankfully, there were many people who decided to partake in an additional snow day so the usual busy morning commute was not at all busy. As I drove along Route 924, there were so many tractor trailers parked alongside the road. Some were parked into the right lane of the highway. Snow sat a foot high on top of the trailers they were hauling.

A few were trying to dig their rigs out, the snow surrounding their 18 wheels falling onto the road. They were helping each other out. I felt bad for them. Truckers never catch a break. I appreciate how hard they work to make sure the stores are stocked. When I left work nearly 9 hours later, many were still stuck on the side of the road while others had managed to get moving, leaving a snow outline where they once were parked.

I too was about to have my own parking nightmare. When I arrived home, my illegal traffic cones were still in place. I moved them and proceeded to try and park in my space. Since I did not shovel at all around my car this morning, fitting back into my space proved to be challenging. I tried making room by moving my car back and forth, aka, I was being lazy and trying to shovel with my car.

The only thing that little trick got me was stuck. Once I got unstuck, I tried to parallel park into my spot. That worked about as well as sticking a key in an electrical outlet. I found myself stuck again. Once I got unstuck, yet again, I backed up the road and tried parking into my space again. I was too far out into the road. Even with the snow ban in effect, the roadways were narrow so I could not leave my Jeep jutting out like that. I needed to grab my shovel from the house to make more room.

As I got out of my car I realized I was oblivious to what was going down in front of my house. This beat up blue van was stuck in the snow right in front of my house. He was spinning and grinding so hard that thick black exhaust was spewing from his muffler turning the snow piles pitch black. There was an older, supped up pickup truck painted in camo colors trying to pull the guy out with a chain. They were both struggling.

To make matters worse, the van was stuck right in front of the only path shoveled to my house. My house was surrounded by a three foot wall of snow from shoveling and snow plowing. How the hell was I going to get into my house to get my shovel? Nervously, I glanced at my Jeep. I was so afraid it was going to get hit but I had to shovel to make more room. That question I always ask myself popped into my head once again.

I am over winter completely, forever. 


"Why?"

"Why did this van have to get stuck in front of my house?"

"Why did he have to be right in front of the pathway?"


Quickly, I made my way across the street. I was choking from the smell of exhaust. I searched for the lowest part of the snow barricade surrounding my house to try and walk through it. The guys trying to get the van unstuck were making me nervous because they kept rocking the van back and forth and the van kept going sideways. I was scared I was going to get hit or sandwiches between the van and the telephone pole.

I stuck my right leg into the snow pile. As I went to take a huge step with my left leg, I felt this sharp pain in my thigh. I pulled a muscle too hard because my right foot was completely stuck in the snow mound and wouldn't give. I lowered my left leg, realizing if I tried to take another step, I would find myself twisted in a terribly awkward and painful position. Once I found my balance, I manage to pull my right leg out of the snow bank. Unfortunately for me, I did not have my boot laced tight enough so my boot, along with my sock, remaoined in the snow pile.

Accurate depiction of me vs. snowbank.
So here I was, hopping around on the corner of my street like a flamingo. My bare foot was bent up to my butt to prevent it from hitting the exhaust covered snow. I was in the midst of compete mayhem, watching the traffic back up on my street as a beat up, serial killer looking van tried to get dislodged from a snow pile while being pulled on a chain by a pick up truck owned by a kid who watched too much Duck Dynasty. All I kept thinking in my head was "F@ck you Stella!"

I could not dislodge my boot while hopping on one foot so I had to drop my right foot onto the ground. It was so freakin cold. I managed to awkwardly rip my boot from the snow bank without completely falling on my ass. As I quickly threw the boot back on my foot, I noticed a small crowd forming around the van. Another car had stopped to assist. I looked at my own Jeep parked too far out into the street and made a snap decision.

I was going to have to hurl myself over this snowbank. That was the only way I was going to get to my shovel. I stepped back from the snow bank, took a deep breath, then leaped onto the top of the snow bank. It wasn't pretty by any stretch of the imagination. I started sinking into the snow bank. Panicked that I was going to be buried alive, I proceeded to roll over the rest of it, crashing to the ground, while big chunks of snow came crashing with me. I also pulled a few more muscles.

Wincing with pain, I limped over to my porch and opened the front door. I stumbled to the back porch, grabbed my shovel, stretched another muscle while almost falling on the slick wet tile in my kitchen, then went back out the front door. I did not have time to shovel a path. I cursed under my breath as I threw my shovel over the snow bank and hurled my body over it once again. By this time my body was numb and cold so I did not feel any pain other than utter embarrassment.

I dodged the train wreck that was still ensuing on the corner of my street, walked over to my Jeep and started throwing hunks of snow out of my parking space. I was completely exhausted and shaking from anger and anxiety. I did not notice the boy up the street and his sister standing behind me. He walked over to me, asked for the shovel, then proceeded to start shoveling the snow out from around my car.

I felt my eyes well up with tears of gratefulness for this young man. As he was shoveling around my car, I grabbed a $20 bill from my purse. Once I was backed into my parking space completely, I tried to give this young man the money. He immediately refused. He said he did not mind helping me. It took me about 5 minutes to convince him that he deserved this money because I was about to crack up and he saved the day. I told him to save it until summer if he wanted so he could buy ice cream from the ice cream man.

Reluctantly, he finally took the money. He is a good kid. I know his parents and they are great people. They were doing a wonderful job raising their children. I thanked him about 17 more times, then turned and walked back to my house. By this time, the van, while still stuck, was a little further up from the shoveled walkway, so I did not have to hurl myself over the snow bank again. I thanked the lord for the little things in life.

My nightmare was not completely over though. I heard more voices out front. I went out on my porch and witnessed two more guys with broken pieces of particle board furniture, most likely from a shelf or entertainment center, trying to slide them under the wheels of the van. The camouflage pick up truck was still pulling the van, but he had changed directions. He was now driving the wrong way up the side street where my jeep was parked.

The particle board slats worked to free the van from the rut in front of my house but the tires on it were so bald that Mr.Clean became an official hater. As the pick up towed this van up the side street hill, the vans tires spun relentlessly, spitting snow all over the place. All of a sudden the van started sliding sideways, right next to my Jeep. I felt my heart leap into my throat. I ran out onto my porch, my mouth open but no sound coming out. I wanted to scream "Jesus Effing Christ" but no one would have heard me over the spinning tires and over revved engines.

A few drinks were definitely had!
The van was within 2 inches of my Jeep when it finally stopped sliding. For the next twenty minutes I watched in horror as the van tried to back down the street again. He got lodged in the snow bank in front of my Jeep. They unhooked the chain from the van as he worked his was sideways across the side street. He started backing up into the snow bank, coming within inches of my Jeep again. I honestly did not know what to do to help either.

Had I had the extra money, I would have called a tow company to help the guy but I didn't. Obviously this guy didn't have much money either. There were several guys trying to help him, so all I would be, was in the way. As much as I felt sorry for his plight, I had to wonder why he would even think of driving this van a day after a blizzard which such bald tires. I mean he had to know it wasn't a good idea right? Even with good tires and 4 wheel drive, it was still possible to slide or get stuck in ruts an snow banks.

It was nearing 600 pm and I was starting to get hungry. I decided that it would be best not to watch how the rest of this played out. I walked to my kitchen and microwaved a plate of blizzard breakfast leftovers. Eventually the van was gone. I am not sure what time it happened but he made it out somehow. Hopefully he did not have to go far.

As for Stella, her remains hung around for about two weeks. The temperature definitely did rise, and remained pretty high every day, but it took awhile for her to melt away completely. In those two weeks she gifted me with the most massive icicle I had ever seen hanging from the side of my house. It went from my eaves, past both my bathroom and kitchen window and ended a few feet above the snowbank on the side of my house.

It was so big and so dangerous looking, but at the same time very cool and beautiful. The bottom part of the icicle twirled into these perfect curls that reminded me of a twisting water slide. The really thick part of the ice near the eaves had a pretty blue tint to it. I was both fascinated and horrified by it. Beautiful or not, I actually looked up prices to see what it would cost to have it removed because of it's sheer size. Turns out icicle removal costs about as much as having a tree cut down. It's not cheap.

Thankfully no cars could park alongside my house, but I was worried it would collapse while a car was driving by or a person was walking down the street. The last thing I wanted was for someone to get hurt. I anxiously monitored this gargantuan icicle on a day to day basis for over a week. It broke off little by little for the most part. Eventually one day, I heard this very loud rumble and crash come from the side of my house.

I ran out to my deck and peered around to the side of my house, looking up at the eaves. The icicle was gone. My eyes moved to the snow bank running up the side of my house. A huge chuck of bluish ice jutted out from the snow. I breathed a huge sigh of relief. The icicle had fallen straight down into the snow bank under my kitchen window. Thankfully, no one was around when it fell. There was no damage to the eaves, windows or siding on my house either.

The Queen Mum of Icicles. 

A little better but still scary. 

Buh-Bye Scary Icicle.
Two days later, everything was gone. Stella, also known as the Blizzard of 2017, left over 100,000 people without power in her aftermath. She messed up transit for a good part of the Northeast for several days. She gusted winds averaging 40-60 mph and in some places, twice as much. She caused several tornadoes. She forced many areas to declare a state of emergency, my city included. And sadly, she was responsible for the deaths of 19 people.

As much fun as it can be having a snow day, severe winter storms are no joke. The can be deadly, destructive and devastating. This past Friday a good part of the Northeast, my city included, was rocked with a wicked Nor'easter that crippled travel and stranded motorists on highways and interstates for days. The storm came in too hard and too fast, spilling heavy, wet snow in it's path while leaving many people scratching their heads at some of the meteorological predictions that were way off base.




Listed below are some links of tips to follow for severe winter weather. 






Stay safe my winter friends. 

Chrissy







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Ciao!