This weekend was to be our youth group's annual ski trip weekend. Part or all of our family have attended this weekend for the past 8 years, which I think qualifies it as a bona fide family tradition.
As with most trips, I procrastinated on packing and other last-minute activities until the 11th hour. (I work better under the pressure of a looming deadline. Really.)
Now, most of the time, our local snowstorm predictions are nothing more than free advertising for the grocery stores, who get an influx of sales on bread and milk anytime the word "snow" is mentioned by a meteorologist. (Sometimes I really suspect there's a racket at work there...)
This time, the prognosticators were right on the money. We got hit, and hit hard. The system that laid down ice and sleet across Oklahoma and Arkansas yesterday marched into the midstate area. By mid-morning, snow began falling - beautiful, fluffy flakes. Within a few hours, it was flurrying furiously. A 5-mile trip home after DD's piano lesson took half an hour, much of it crawling on snow-covered surface streets. Note to city crews: deicer is no match for snow falling at a rate of an inch or two an hour. A for effort, though.
We struggled home (after making the mandatory side trip to the grocery store) and wondered if the trip would be called off. Sure enough, the call came mid-afternoon: ski trip officially canceled. Boo. It's probably the prudent choice, and and certainly welcome news for nervous parents concerned about putting their teens on a bus headed into a blizzard; but disappointing news nonetheless.
To add insult to that injury, now I'm scrambling for cooking inspiration - I was kind of looking forward to a weekend away from the kitchen. Hmmm. Wonder if the pizza places are delivering tonight?
